Walking the Wire
by AndAllThatMishigas
Summary: Lucien is quite taken with his housekeeper, and she's rather interested in him as well. But as their relationship begins to progress, the pressures of societal expectations threaten to tear them apart. They must have faith in each other as they precariously navigate their changing circumstances together.
1. Chapter 1

**Walking the Wire**

Jean tried to ignore the way Lucien's eyes followed her around the parlor as she did her dusting. She tried to ignore the way she involuntarily smiled, knowing he wasn't paying a bit of attention to the newspaper that was slowly lowering from his face. She really did try not to enjoy the fact that her new employer was thoroughly gorgeous and brilliant and kind and funny, and that he seemed to be noticing her more and more. But Jean knew that surely flattery was all there could ever be.

In the four months since he had arrived in Ballarat, they'd gone through a wild series of ups and downs together. She had first been thankful for his presence, as Thomas had suffered such a horrible stroke and was uncommunicative for the most part. She had written to Lucien to ask him to come see his father for she feared he was not long for this world. And she had been correct. Lucien, being a doctor himself, had been able to help make his father comfortable. But he had such sullen moods and a filthy penchant for drink and cigarettes which infuriated her to no end. Still, he had been kind company to Jean when she had no one else. He would not step foot in church, much to her earlier horror, though when he told her of his wife and daughter who had gone missing and perhaps perished in the war and his own terrible treatment at the hands of the Japanese, Jean could not fault his lapse in religiosity.

After Thomas had died, Lucien proclaimed that he would settle affairs and leave Ballarat. Jean worried for her fate and had searched for another job. But as she and Lucien grew closer and he sought her assistance in the cases he worked with the police, they had come to something of an understanding. Jean turned down a job offer she'd received. Lucien officially took over Dr. Blake's practice. And each evening, they sat together at the dinner table with Mattie and Danny and all discussed their work and enjoyed the meal Jean had prepared. It was comfortable and happy. A family in its own way.

But now, Lucien was between cases. Mattie and Danny were at work. And Jean was busy with the household chores, doing her best to keep from smiling as she still tried to ignore the way he was looking at her.

"Jean?" he finally ventured after several minutes of quiet survey.

She turned to address him, feigning disinterest. "Hmm?"

He stared at her. She looked back expectantly. "Jean."

She sighed, seeing now that he was in one of his odd, thoughtful moods. "Yes, Lucien?"

"You're very beautiful," he blurted.

Jean balked. Her eyes widened in surprise.

Lucien sputtered, "Oh. No. I mean...you look very beautiful. Erm. Today. You look nice. Today. Most days. Always. I mean..."

She blushed but couldn't help laugh a bit. "Lucien, are you alright?"

"I'm sorry, Jean. I..." he trailed off and stood up from the sofa and scurried into his study and closed the door.

Jean stood there, unsure what to do. What on earth was he up to, daring to say such things to the housekeeper?

But she didn't need to wonder for long. He came right out a moment later, standing tall and squaring his shoulders in a show of strange bravery. "Jean, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I wasn't. I'm...flattered." The blush had not fully dissipated from her cheeks. Her heart was pounding in her chest at this unexpected encounter between them.

"I was hoping to ask if you would like to have dinner with me sometime?" he asked nervously.

Jean swallowed hard, trying not to allow her heart to leap from her chest at his words. "We have dinner together most nights, Lucien," she pointed out.

He explained, "I mean out somewhere. Just you and I. When you're not working and I'm not...distracted."

"I have a feeling you'd be distracted wherever you are," she teased. Despite her cavalier words, her voice came out in breathy nervousness.

He averted his gaze and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "Jean...I..."

"I would love to go to dinner with you," she interrupted with a smile, hoping that her daring bravery at accepting such an invitation would put them both at ease. How, she could not say.

His face broke into an eager grin, making him look positively boyish, despite his graying beard and the wrinkles around his bright blue eyes. "Oh that's wonderful. How about tomorrow?"

She could not help but smile a bit herself. "That would be very nice, thank you. I'll have to tell Mattie and Danny I won't be cooking..."

"I'll take care of that," he assured her. "You and I can leave at about six, is that alright?"

Jean nodded. "Will you let me know where we're going? I'll need to know how to dress."

"I thought perhaps at the Aria," he offered.

If she had been surprised before, that was nothing compared to her utter panic now. "The…the Aria? Lucien, that's the most expensive restaurant in town!" That particular establishment had been opened only two years earlier, when the Tynemans insisted that Ballarat needed a fine dining restaurant. It was one of only a half dozen places in their small city that had linen tablecloths and a wine list that offered more than just 'red' or 'white.' Jean had never been to the Aria, nor had she ever dreamed that she ever would. It simply was not the sort of place that a farmer's widow turned housekeeper would ever expect to find herself.

Lucien crossed toward her and placed his hands lightly on her upper arms. "I would like to take you somewhere nice. I haven't been there, myself, but whenever I've gone by, I've thought it might be a place to take a beautiful woman. And you are a very beautiful woman, and I'd like to take you there. And as for the cost, Jean, you manage the household books. Do you think I can afford it?"

His light teasing eased her nerves somewhat, making her purse her lips to keep from laughing. "For a special occasion, I think it might fit in the budget."

"I would hope that our first date is a special occasion," he murmured softly. His hands gave her arms a gentle squeeze. "Hopefully the first of many."

"Oh," she exclaimed with a slight gasp. "I…I don't want you to get your hopes up. You might not like me."

Lucien chuckled merrily. "I already like you very much, Jean."

The way he looked at her and touched her, the things he was saying…Jean was starting to feel a bit lightheaded. Thank heavens that the phone rang just at that moment. They both sprang apart, the tension between them evaporating as reality returned. "I'll get that," she breathed, rushing out of the parlor.

When Jean left, Lucien sat back down on the sofa. He sighed happily, letting his head fall back on the edge of the sofa and closing his eyes with a smile. Whatever had possessed him to ask her out in that manner? He thought he'd thoroughly bungled the whole thing and retreated to his study. But this wasn't just any woman he wanted to see socially. This was Jean Beazley. And though he had not known her for very long, he already knew she was quite special. Jean was strong and principled and beautiful, and all of those were things he could see upon his first moments in her presence. And as he spent more and more time with her, tending to his father and getting settled in his new role as country doctor and police surgeon, Lucien came to find that Jean was utterly brilliant, unspeakably kind, and braver than any soldier he'd ever known. He had come to realize that every time he looked at her, he felt immense pride. Pride in all her qualities, pride in getting to call her his friend and confidante, pride in sharing his life with her. And in such musings, Lucien had come to the startling discovery that he wanted much, much more with her than what they now had. Asking her out to dinner was the first step. And it somehow had gone rather well.

"Lucien, that was Chief Superintendent Lawson," Jean said, returning to the parlor.

He lifted his head to look at her. "Oh?"

"There's been a death at a boarding house just outside town. Your services are needed," she told him.

Lucien felt a sinking feeling in his chest. Normally, a new case intrigued and excited him. But now that he actually wanted to spend more time with home, spend more time with Jean, he found he didn't really want to bother. But he had a duty to perform. "Thank you, Jean," he said, hauling himself up off the sofa. "I assume I'll be out most of the afternoon. I should be home for dinner."

"If you think you'll be late, could you please try to call?"

He looked at her and felt a surge of affection. It was all he could do to keep from leaning down and kissing her cheek. "I will try to call," he promised.

Jean handed Lucien his hat and closed the front door behind him. She was alone in the house, finally. Though she did have more work to do, Jean—rather uncharacteristically—decided to put it off. Instead of returning to her dusting and getting started on the vacuuming, Jean hurried up the stairs to her bedroom. She threw open the doors to her wardrobe and scoured her paltry racks of clothes. Tomorrow night, Lucien was taking her to the Aria. And for the life of her, she could not imagine she had anything that would be suitable to wear. There was not enough time to make anything. And she did not have the money to buy a new frock. Surely she must have something!

She was so fixated on trying to find what she could possibly wear to dinner with Lucien that she didn't even hear Mattie come home and call for her till the young woman was in her doorway.

"There you are!"

Jean jumped. "Oh, Mattie, I'm sorry, were you looking for me?"

"Yes, I was going to see if you needed any help with dinner. I finished my rounds earlier than anticipated," Mattie told her.

"I see. Yes, I should…dinner, yes…" Jean stammered, feeling all out of sorts.

Mattie came into Jean's bedroom and saw the dresses strewn about on the bed and over the back of the chair at the vanity. "What's going on here?"

"I'm trying to find something to wear to dinner tomorrow," Jean confessed.

"Have you got a hot date?" Mattie teased.

Jean's silence spoke volumes.

"Oh Jean, that's wonderful! Can I help? Where's he taking you?"

"The Aria," Jean mumbled, feeling nervous and out of place already.

"How very posh," Mattie complimented. "Then in that case, you'll need something really elegant, something to make his eyes bug out of his head when he sees you."

Despite feeling absolutely embarrassed at the whole thing, Jean gratefully accepted Mattie's assistance. The younger woman was quite good at this sort of thing—Jean knew Mattie had quite a lot of practice going out on dates, though she'd never dream of saying anything about it.

Once they'd agreed on the outfit Jean would wear on her date, Mattie finally asked, "Who is it, by the way? The posh man taking you out to the Aria?"

And in a moment's panic, Jean lied, "No one you know. He's not in Ballarat, actually. He wrote me from Mildura a while ago and told me he'd be in town. We went to school together. His name is James."

Mattie smiled, accepting what Jean had told her. "Well, I hope James knows how lucky he is to be getting to take you to dinner, particularly when you're wearing this dress."

Jean just smiled and began putting all her clothes away. She sent Mattie downstairs to begin chopping the vegetables for dinner. Jean would just have to find a way out of this mess. Somehow.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucien worried he might make his father's old car break to pieces with how fast he was driving it through town. He'd just finished the initial examination of the body at the morgue when he saw the clock. It was nearly dinnertime. He'd told Jean he'd be home or he'd call if he'd be late. He did not want to be late. He wanted to get home and see her.

As he drove, he had ominous doubts that perhaps Jean had changed her mind and would not wish to go out with him. There were plenty of reasons not to, he supposed. She didn't like that he drank and wouldn't go to church. She still wore her Christopher's wedding ring. She would find something improper about accepting romantic overtures from her employer, chaste and honorable as his invitation had been—so far, at least.

And if she was just going to let him down, why should he bother rushing home? It was foolish to hurry back to such disappointment. But Lucien knew that he harbored a dangerous hope that perhaps she would not disappoint him. And more than that, even if she did tell him not to pursue her in this manner, Lucien knew he still wanted to see her anyway.

He opened the front door and removed his hat, calling out, "I'm home! Sorry to be a bit late!"

At the sound of his voice, Jean practically ran into the foyer, a frightened look on her face. "I need to speak to you," she hissed.

Here it was, he knew. She wanted to get it over with quickly so he didn't make the mistake of mentioning it to anyone before she could tell him no. Trying to head off the rejection, he began, "Jean, I understand if you've changed your mind and you don't want to…" As her sharp gaze widened in shock, he trailed off. Had he gotten it all wrong?

"I haven't changed my mind," she told him quickly. "I very much want to go to dinner with you tomorrow. If that's what you were saying."

Lucien could not help the grin on his face. "Yes," he replied softly.

"But I needed to speak with you about it."

"What about it?"

"We can't let people know," Jean insisted bluntly.

"Oh?"

"It isn't right," she explained. "You're my employer. We live under the same roof. People…people will whisper and get the wrong idea. I can't have the busybodies in church look at me like that again."

"Again?" he interrupted.

Jean just shook her head, dissuading him from asking for details on that front. Perhaps another time, when they'd gotten closer. "I told Mattie I was going to dinner with a man I knew in school named James who lives in Mildura."

Lucien saw the immediate flaw in her fib. "But what if someone from the Aria sees us and Mattie finds out we were together and you weren't with some man named James?"

Her face fell. "Oh dear." Clearly she hadn't thought of that.

"I think I have a way to clear it up. If you'll trust me to take care of it and follow my lead?" Lucien flashed her a soft smile and held his hand out to her.

Jean did not reply. But she did put her hand in his and give him a smile and a gentle nod. Lucien felt a pleasant bloom of warmth emanate from his chest. Too soon, however, he had to let go of her hand so they could both go to the kitchen for dinner. Mattie and Danny were both waiting for them.

"There you are! What was so important that you had to run out of here like that, Auntie Jean?" Danny asked, whining over having to wait for dinner.

"Just a bit of inconsistency with the household books. Jean didn't want to forget to inform me. But it's all been sorted," Lucien lied, an easy smile gracing his fine features.

Jean just stared at him, slightly baffled. He came up with that story quite easily, whereas Jean herself had panicked when Mattie had asked her about her date! And speaking of which…

"By the way, you both will need to find your own way for supper tomorrow. I'm taking Jean out for dinner," Lucien informed their young lodgers.

"You can't!" Mattie immediately replied. "Jean already has dinner plans, don't you, Jean?"

Jean went to open her mouth to reply, but Lucien spoke on her behalf. "She did, yes, but I was able to persuade her to postpone. You see, tomorrow will be six months since the first day I arrived in Ballarat, and Jean's been so good to me, keeping the house and the practice in order and helping care for my father and such, I just want to give her a night off. And the only real way to give her the night off is to take her out somewhere," he explained.

"That's really nice, Lucien," Danny said. "Where are you going?"

"The Aria," Lucien told him proudly.

The rest of dinner was spent discussing things they'd heard about the extravagant restaurant and trying to predict what it would be like to go there and Lucien promising to tell them all about it. Jean mostly kept to herself and ate her meal, all the while trying not to smile too much, lest anyone wonder why.

The following day, Lucien was quite busy with the new case from the moment he woke. He greeted Jean for a cup of tea and bit of toast before rushing off to the morgue, telling her not to expect him for lunch but that he would be back home in plenty of time for their dinner. Mattie has been in the kitchen at the time, so he was careful not to call it a date.

Jean had a devil of a time filling the hours. She had work to do, of course, but her mind was fixated on her impending evening with Lucien. Would he be late, despite his intent and promise to be on time? Would he like the dress she wore? How should she do her hair? And what on earth was she supposed to do on a date with Lucien Blake!?

Eventually, it was time for her to go up to her room and change for dinner. Mattie had come by around four to change out of her uniform and then was off to go see her friends in the nurses dormitory. Danny was working a late shift at the police station, so he was out of her hair as well.

Jean took her time getting herself ready, knowing that taking care and being diligent was the only way to keep herself calm. This she could do. Layers of foundation garments. Stockings rolled up each leg. Dress smoothed over everything. Powder to blur the wrinkles and age spots on her face. A bit of mascara on her lashes. A hint of blush. Lipstick applied and lightly blotted to keep from transferring too much. Hair pinned. Perfume applied. All done.

She looked at herself in the mirror and was finally satisfied. And just in time. She could hear the front door open and close as Lucien called her name and told her he would be just a minute. She glanced at the clock. Six on the dot. Jean grinned. He really had made the effort to be punctual.

After a few deep breaths, Jean slipped her shoes on and found the purse she would use for the evening. She was ready. Time to make a move.

Lucien had very quickly changed his tie and made sure he was looking presentable. Thankfully, he returned to the foyer before Jean had made her appearance. He was supposed to wait for her, after all, rather than the other way around.

And then she appeared at the top of the stairs. She looked different, but still so beautiful. She wore a green dress that showed off her incredible figure better than anything he'd ever seen her in. He gazed at her, seeing her shapely legs, full hips, trim waist, curved bosom, long neck, and beautiful face. It was her hair that gave him pause. Her usual curls were pinned up on top of her head, emphasizing her neck and jaw and showing off the bits of gray at her temples that he had never quite noticed before. And he suddenly felt the urge to remove all the pins from her hair and tangle his hands in it and trace every line of her with his tongue.

Lucien shook himself and forced his body to move. He held out his hand to help her down the stair. She gave his a slight squeeze, which he returned. The soft smile gracing her elegant features set his heart to fluttering. "Jean, you look beautiful."

She smiled at the compliment. "That's twice in two days you've told me that."

"I would tell you every hour of every day, but I think you'd doubt my sincerity."

Jean just pursed her lips, her eyes shining merrily. They made their way to the door. Lucien took his hat from the hook as Jean reached for her coat. The way they'd turned, Lucien caught a glimpse of how that dress hugged the curves of her body, the way it emphasized the gorgeous swell of her bum. His collar felt tight all of a sudden.

"Ready?"

Lucien nearly choked in his haste to respond and tear his eyes away from her. "Yes. Off we go."

Dinner was an absolutely incredible affair. The waiters at the Aria all wore tuxedos. The dining room had an enormous crystal chandelier. The place settings were fine china and polished silver. Everyone treated Jean and Lucien like royalty, as they did will all the patrons there. For them, however, it was quite the treat.

"Jean?"

She turned to see Robert Manifold approach their table. "Robert, hello!"

He looked to Lucien with an odd look on his face before turning his attention back to Jean. "I don't want to interrupt but I saw you sitting here and thought I'd say hello."

Jean just smiled politely. "I'm glad you did. And you know Dr. Blake, of course. Lucien, you remember Robert, the director of the Church Dramatic Society?"

Lucien stood up to shake Robert's hand. "Lovely to see you, Robert. Jean and I are having a bit of a celebration. She's been such a great help to me, and a nice night off was in order."

"Yes, Jean is wonderful," Robert agreed softly. "Well, I'll leave you to your meal."

As he walked away, Jean sighed in relief.

"Everything alright, Jean?"

She leaned forward over the table and whispered conspiratorially, "I think he's a bit jealous."

"Oh?"

"I've been politely turning him down for the last few weeks. And now he sees me out here with you. Even if everything about this evening is strictly professional, as far as anyone else knows. I'm sure Robert is a bit hurt by the look of it."

"I consider myself luckier than I imagined to be out here with you, Jean, because even if everything is made to look strictly professional, you and I know what's really going on. I should have known that such a lovely woman must have other offers, though I'll confess I didn't know about them."

"Not many, but you aren't the first man to ask me to dinner since my husband's death," she teased. But after her eyes darted around to be sure no one was watching, she did blush and admit, "But you are the first I've said yes to without hesitation."

Lucien felt his heart beat faster and had to stop himself from shouting out a cheer. How incredibly and unbelievably lucky he was! "Shall we head back home for a nightcap?" he suggested.

"That would be very nice."

It was at that moment that Jean put both of her hands on the table and Lucien noticed that her left ring finger was conspicuously bare for the first time since he had known her.

He paid the extravagant bill and escorted Jean back to the car. On the drive, her hand was resting on top of her knee. Lucien boldly reached out with his own hand. She boldly laced her fingers with his. They didn't say a word. They only watched the road and smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

"Sherry, Jean?" Lucien offered, hanging up his hat and heading into the parlor.

"Please," she replied, putting her handbag and jacket away. When she joined him, he handed her a glass and clinked it with his own. Jean watched him as she took a small sip. He was watching her, a small smile playing on his face.

"Shall we sit?" he suggested.

"Alright," she replied. They both took their places on the sofa. Though Jean did feel rather bold in sitting much closer to him than she normally would. His leg was practically touching hers. His very proximity made her heart pound in her chest. She felt like her very skin would start to buzz. Perhaps it was the alcohol. Perhaps it wasn't.

Lucien drank a big gulp of his scotch. Jean certainly wouldn't approve of him drinking too much, but he was in sudden need of some liquid courage. They were sitting quietly together, as they often did in the evenings, but Jean wasn't knitting and he wasn't reading and the wireless wasn't playing. He should have turned it on, given them a bit of background noise. The silence felt heavy. "Did you enjoy the meal?" he asked, desperate for something to say.

"Oh yes, very much. I like to think I'm an alright cook, but I could never do anything so marvelous as that."

"I'm sure you could."

Jean just laughed.

"I don't think there's anything you can't do, Jean," he said softly.

She suddenly felt his eyes on her, and she looked up from her sherry to see his brilliant blue gaze bore deep into her soul. Jean felt herself gasp slightly.

"May I ask you something?" His voice was low and very quiet.

Jean just nodded, unable to make herself speak at the moment, unable to look away from his beautiful eyes.

"Why did you pin your hair up like that?"

The strangeness of the question jolted her out of the intensity of the moment. "Oh, I don't…I don't know, I thought it would be something different."

He gave another smile. "It is very different."

"I wanted to do something special. Do you not like it?"

"It shows off your lovely neck very well, but I miss seeing your curls," he confessed.

"Well they're still there," she pointed out.

Lucien chuckled softly. "May I?" he asked.

The air caught in Jean's throat and she nodded once more. Lucien put his glass on the side table as Jean turned her back to him on the sofa. Ever so gently, he began to remove the pins from her hair. She could feel his breath on her neck and suddenly the lightest brush of his lips and the faint scratch of his beard against her skin. His fingers combed through her hair, separating the curls and his kisses became more insistent.

"Lucien," Jean said shakily.

He immediately unhanded her. "Sorry," he breathed.

She turned back around to face him, her face flush and her eyes dark. "Will you put my glass on the table? I don't want to spill anything."

Lucien did as she asked, and as soon as he turned back to her, she placed one of her elegant hands on his chest and leaned forward. He swallowed hard. "Jean," he whispered.

Jean was going to say his name in return, but his lips captured hers before she could get the word out. She didn't mind at all.

Their lips moved together fervently, more ardently than Lucien could have imagined. He had surmised that there might be a dormant fire in his stern housekeeper, and it seemed he was very much correct. The taste of her was absolutely intoxicating. Her tongue darted out to trace his lips. Lucien groaned with desire as he opened his mouth to her.

Jean felt electricity spark through her veins as the well of passion broke through her carefully constructed walls. He was her employer, the broken and drunk surgeon-turned-soldier-turned-doctor. He was certainly those things, but more importantly, the was _Lucien_, and she had silenced her clamoring heart from him for too long. She wanted him, all of him, and he wanted her, and she would have him.

As Jean scooted herself forward on the sofa, clutching the back of his neck with one hand and digging her nails into his shoulder with the other, Lucien pulled her closer in his arms. She was such a lithe thing, so small that his two hands covered nearly the entire expanse of her back. His hands slid even lower as her tongue surged into his mouth so he could grasp the incredible bum he'd admired earlier in the evening. Jean moaned and pressed herself even closer to him.

The lock clicked and the front door opened. Jean thankfully heard it and practically leapt off of Lucien. Both their eyes were wild and confused, their chests heaving with their panting breath. Jean wiped the corners of her mouth and pushed back her hair. Without a word, she hurried out and up the stairs to her room.

Lucien was left on the sofa, wiping his own mouth—for surely some of her lipstick had gotten on him—and willed his body to calm down. He downed the rest of Jean's sherry and his own scotch as Mattie came into the parlor.

"Nice evening?"

"Very nice, yes," he replied, somewhat amazed by how steady he managed to keep his voice.

"Did Jean have a good time?" she asked, obviously concerned over the way Jean had rushed past her to go upstairs.

"Yes. But we had a bit to drink and she wasn't feeling well," Lucien lied. At least, he hoped it was a lie. He dearly hoped that Jean was feeling quite well, as he was.

Mattie nodded. "I suppose she's not used to going out. Particularly not with you," she teased.

Lucien chuckled in response. "And you, Mattie? Did you have a nice evening?"

"Yes, thank you," she replied, her pale cheeks blushing slightly.

She could blush all she wanted, Lucien wasn't going to pry. And he hoped for the same courtesy from her.

"Well, goodnight, Lucien," Mattie said, going off to her own room down the hall.

"Goodnight," he answered. It was probably best for him to make his way to bed as well. He would surely have very sweet dreams. But as he stood, something fell off his lap. He bent down to find Jean's hairpins stuck in the carpet. He was careful to pick up each one he'd taken from her hair and held them tight in his hand. She would probably need them back, but for now, he wanted to keep them.

Jean woke the next morning in a flurry of anxiety. She'd been so careful the night before, to hide up in her room to make sure no one would catch her with Lucien. She'd heard Mattie tell Lucien goodnight, and it was only knowing that Danny would be home from his late shift any minute that kept her from sneaking downstairs to Lucien's room. Thank goodness she hadn't done anything like that. Must have been the alcohol. Or maybe it wasn't.

But now, in the light of day, Jean was rather appalled at her own behavior. Lucien certainly seemed to enjoy their passionate embrace, but he was probably as caught up in the moment as she was. And he was probably shocked by the way she threw herself at him. Or he may have instead been under the impression that she was a very different sort of woman, the kind who did things like that with men. Jean wasn't quite sure which view of her was worse, disgusted by her wantonness or now anticipating it.

Best thing to do, as Jean always believed, was to start the day and muddle her way through. Head high, straight to work. She dressed for the day and went downstairs to get a start on breakfast.

Much to her surprise, Lucien was already in the kitchen with a pot of tea on table with two cups. The one in front of him was filled. The one at Jean's usual place was empty. "I'd have made yours, but I didn't want it to get cold. I wasn't sure what time you usually come down," he said nervously.

He was nervous. She wondered why he should be nervous. "Thank you," she said simply, unsure what else to say.

Lucien fixed her tea with a splash of milk, just as she liked it. She sat down and took a grateful sip. He took another sip of his before he began, "Last night, when Mattie came home…"

She interrupted, "I didn't think it would be a good idea if she saw me. I wasn't quite…put together."

A delightful blush colored his cheeks. "Nor was I."

"Did she say anything?"

"No, if she noticed anything, she didn't indicate as such."

Jean nodded. "That's for the best."

"Yes," he agreed.

"And I am sorry," she finally said, cutting to the chase, as it were.

He looked up abruptly, concern filling his face. "Why should you be sorry? I mean, I think…I rather think I'm the one who should apologize."

Jean felt her face grow hot, and it wasn't at all to do with the steaming cup of tea. "I threw myself at you, it was awful," she mumbled.

"It was wonderful," he countered.

Her heart skipped a beat. "Was it?"

Lucien's eyes darkened and the intensity of their time on the sofa settled between them once again. "It was. You are. Wonderful."

"And you," she dared to reply. "You're rather wonderful."

"Then you don't regret…"

"Not if you don't."

Lucien exhaled in relief and smiled. "I don't think I've ever had such an incredible first kiss in all my life."

Jean blushed bright red. "I've never done anything like that before," she admitted.

"Never? I find that hard to believe. You're…quite good at it."

"Well," she amended, "never on a sofa."

"Oh?"

"Hayloft," she muttered, taking another sip of her tea.

He just grinned.

Jean stood up from the chair. "I'd better get started on breakfast. Thank you for the tea."

Lucien jumped up and grabbed her arm before she could dash away from him again and get caught up in her work. "Before Mattie and Danny come down…"

She looked at his hand on her arm, which he immediately released, and then up to his face. "Yes?"

"I was wondering if I could kiss you again. I'm afraid that I dreamed it."

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and her heart expanded with warmth as she nodded. Lucien's large hand cupped her cheek and drew her face up to his. And rather than the unbridled passion of the night before, this kiss was gentle and lingering and full of promise. A different sort of promise this time. Jean threw her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, whimpering against his mouth, feeling the scratch of his beard and the pliant pillow of his lips and the soft sweetness of his tongue. And Jean suddenly realized she wanted nothing more in the entire world than to continue to kiss Lucien Blake as often as she could possibly manage.

As much as he didn't want to, Lucien knew he had to pull back before he couldn't. He rested his forehead against hers and murmured, "I don't want us to be interrupted again. Best stop while we can." He pressed one more kiss to her lips and then stepped away from her.

Jean had no words. She seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. She just stood there, dazed and stunned.

"Breakfast?" he reminded her. "I can slice some bread for toast if you like."

"Oh. Um. Yes." Blinking back to reality, Jean went to get the butter and eggs to start cooking.

Lucien wasn't sure he'd ever stop smiling. It was a very unfamiliar feeling for him, but he was happier than he could ever recall. He was hopeful for the first time in many, many years. And it was all Jean. Glorious, brilliant Jean.


	4. Chapter 4

The world was such a bright, happy place. Jean had never quite noticed before. At least she had not noticed in a very long time.

Being with Lucien was just such fun. Now that they had embarked on this gentle romance of theirs, he paid her much more attention, was often so very kind and thoughtful. Who could have believed that the taciturn man with his penchant for drink who had first landed on the doorstep of his dying father's house could have turned into such a beautiful romantic?

And that change in Lucien had brought on a change in Jean. She'd never been a sullen person, never allowed the pall of depression to settle over her; there were more important things to carry on with for that. But the lonely years had certainly made her a bit stern. She could not recall the last time she had smiled so big and so often. From the moment she woke in the morning and first looked at herself in the mirror of her vanity, Jean saw a light in her eyes and the hint of a smile on her lips. And when she went to bed, tired from a day's work, that light had not dimmed nor had the smile faded.

Mattie had been curious, if Jean's new good mood had been because James from Mildura had taken her out when he was in town. But Jean was able to tell her quite honestly that no, she never did end up going out with James, and it was just as well.

"Then what's got you so cheerful?" the young woman had asked.

"It's a beautiful day," was all Jean had replied.

She was thinking, as she often did now, about how beautifully things had changed for her in these four weeks since Lucien had first asked her out to dinner. She hummed to herself as she finished washing the dishes and went through the house to the sunroom to tend to her flowers. Lucien was off somewhere, she thought, and Danny and Mattie were both at work, so Jean assumed she was alone. She hummed a bit louder.

As she made her way to the back door, a pair of hands caught her around the waist and pulled her into a dark corner. She gasped in surprise before soft, pillowy lips began to caress hers. Jean moaned against his mouth and reached up to hold the back of his neck to keep his face anchored to hers. Her fingers traced the neat line of his beard. Lucien pulled her closer to him, hands wandering the plane of her back before inevitably finding the curve of her bum in her tight skirt. He massaged her flesh rather sensuously. Jean couldn't help but roll her hips against his, feeling the slight twitch as he began to harden.

They both broke apart at the same time, breathing heavily. It was too much too fast, they both knew. It hadn't been discussed, the growing intimacy between them, the electricity of their attraction to each other. It had taken Jean by surprise from the very first. She hadn't known she could react to a man like that. With Christopher, they were both so young and everything was new and exciting. With Lucien, they were still rather new to each other, and Jean was certainly out of practice, but the both of them certainly knew what they were doing. And yet still, his touch set her heart to racing, his scent made her lightheaded, his kisses rendered her tingling from top to bottom. She assumed as well—miraculous though it seemed—that she affected Lucien in a similar fashion. He was always extremely eager with his affections, and the way he looked at her was often filled with a kind of longing that made her weak at the knees.

Jean sighed and rested her cheek against Lucien's chest, wrapping her arms around him. He held her against him, hands gently rubbing her back now. "That was a nice surprise," she murmured.

"I came home and found that Mattie and Danny were both out, so I thought I'd seize the opportunity," he replied, kissing the top of her head. "And besides, I've been thinking about you all morning. You looked so very fetching while you made breakfast this morning. If we'd been alone, I'd have backed you up against the countertop and…"

"Don't finish that sentence," she warned, knowing they were drifting into dangerous territory.

Lucien let go of her and took a step back. "Yes, sorry." He could have kicked himself, overstepping like that. He'd tried to restrain himself as best he could, but he was doing a terrible job. About once a day—twice, if he could manage it—Lucien had taken to grabbing Jean and hiding in some dark corner like this one and kissing her with everything he had. Sometimes in his study, in the surgery, in the kitchen, wherever he could find available space. He had, in just a short month, become quite addicted to Jean. He didn't smoke anymore. He barely drank anymore. All he wanted, all he needed, was Jean.

And not just kissing her. He wanted to hold her in his arms while they sat on the sofa. Wanted to hold her hand while they were in the car. Wanted to fall asleep with the scent of her hair filling his lungs. Wanted to dance with her till they couldn't stand. Wanted all things with her, always.

It had been so long since a woman had enraptured him like this. In fact, he was not quite certain if he had ever felt this way about a woman. His dearly departed wife was only a memory to him now. And not having seen her in seventeen years, he could not quite recall how she had affected him in those early days. Everything with Mei Lin had always been done the proper way. The only thing that had been at all improper about their relationship had been the differences in their races. Of course, in Singapore, such things were not as unspeakable as they would have been in Australia, or even in Europe. The only available women for the young single officers to entertain for marriage were the ones they met there. Mei Lin was from a good family with good breeding and a good education. She was brilliant and beautiful, and she had been a good wife and a good mother to their sweet little girl.

But that was all so very long ago. Lucien's time in the war had changed him irreparably. Losing his family had wounded him permanently. That he had survived while his wife and daughter had been lost was an injustice that had haunted his days and nights for years. The man he had been before was well and truly gone, and the man who had taken his place was simultaneously softer and brasher. He acted impulsively, but such impulses were driven much more by his heart than anything else. He had not been ruled by such emotion before. Doing the right thing in the right way had been more important to him. Now, he did as he pleased. And sometimes, that got him into trouble. Patrick Tyneman and Matthew Lawson knew that better than anyone.

And Jean Beazley. She, after all, had been the cause of this new impulse in him. He wanted her so much, and he'd foolishly let his baser feelings be expressed. Jean was a moral woman, a good Catholic. Even if she did let him kiss her passionately each day, he was surely delusional if he entertained any thoughts of moving things between them any further.

"Lucien."

He looked up from his quiet contemplation whilst staring at the carpet to see her face. Her incredible face. She had an expression that confused him, though. She wasn't angry. He couldn't see any sort of negative feeling at all. It looked as though she might be blushing.

"It's just too soon, Lucien," she tried to explain.

"Yes, of course," he replied contritely.

"And if you keep saying things like that, I don't know how long I can resist making you deliver on it."

With that, Jean smirked and turned to attend to her original task of tending to her flowerpots. Lucien was left standing dumbly where he was. She wasn't…she didn't…oh that minx! Her meaning sunk in, giving Lucien a rather silly grin. It was probably best that she'd gone back to her chores, for Lucien was rather certain that he would not be able to resist, in his current mood, telling her he loved her.

There was a noise down the hall that Lucien recognized as the post being delivered. With a little happy chuckle to himself, he went off to collect it.

Jean, meanwhile, had managed to somehow regain her footing. She really would have to be more careful with Lucien. The desire she felt for him was practically overpowering. She was rather certain that she wasn't far off from throwing caution to the wind and giving in to him. But she also knew that if it wasn't the right time and she wasn't ready, regardless of her lustful whims in the moment, she might regret it. And that would be the worst possible thing. Because Jean had a feeling that this relationship they'd begun could grow into something so much more. And she did not want things to be derailed by moving too quickly and having her body rule her mind, rather than the other way around.

As she started repotting her begonia, she heard Lucien call her from inside the house. "Jean! Jean!" he shouted.

She had her hands full of soil and a delicate root structure, so she couldn't very well go run to see what was wrong. "Yes, what is it?" she yelled back, feeling thoroughly unprofessional and uncouth for daring to do something so impolite.

But Lucien didn't seem bothered. He rushed into the sunroom, his eyes wild and clutching a piece of paper in his hand. "Jean, I've gotten a letter!" he announced.

"Yes, I suppose people might right to you from time to time," she answered facetiously.

He ignored her cheek. "An old mate of mine from army days. He's been stationed in Shanghai. In China."

"How nice for him." She really didn't see how an old army mate in China warranted all the excitement.

"He found them."

"Who?"

Lucien's voice was shaking as he told her the most improbable news. "Mei Lin and Li. My wife and daughter. They're alive. They're in China and they're together and they're alive! Can you believe that?"

Jean was absolutely stunned. But the urge to vomit passed quickly and she forced a tight smile on her face. "That's incredible, Lucien."

"Yes, it is," he said, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck and pacing with bewildered agitation. "I've got to pack."

"Pack?"

"Yes, my mate's arranged entry into China for me. I've got to go see them."

"Of course," Jean replied with conviction she did not feel.

Lucien sighed in complete disbelief. He was smiling so brightly. "All this time. All this time, I thought they were dead. Their ship had gone down. I don't know how they survived. But they did. They're safe. And I can go to them."

"Yes, of course," she said again.

He nodded. "It's just…incredible." Lucien leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. "I've got to get the train first thing in the morning, so I'll start organizing things now." He turned and rushed back into the house.

"Let me know if you need any help," she called behind her shoulder. He probably hadn't heard her.

Jean turned her attention back to her begonia, putting it gently into its new pot as tears trailed down her cheeks.


	5. Chapter 5

The house had been quiet since Lucien left. He had gone away so quickly, packing a trunk and giving a scant explanation to everyone in town. Mattie had been excited for him, of course. He had found his family! She knew he had not recovered from losing his wife and daughter, had missed them and longed for them for so very long. How could anyone ever get over a tragedy like that? For a man so full of exuberant energy, Lucien Blake was an extremely melancholy man. It was what made his kindness so much more endearing as a result. He had experienced a loss that few others could imagine, and yet he was jolly and sweet and fun more often than not. A rare and wonderful combination.

Life in Ballarat went on, as much as it could. Mattie still lived in the Blake house and paid her rent as she always had. Jean cooked and cleaned and took care of everyone. Danny continued to be a bit of a prat when he didn't slip up and show himself for the kind young man he might otherwise have been. But there was a very empty hole where Lucien belonged.

It was difficult to be at the house all too much, Mattie found. She had much more time to herself, had free rein over the Doctor's library—Lucien had told her before he left that she was free to use whatever she wanted of his things in his study or in the surgery—but the quiet was what really got to her. It was as though the joy had been sucked from the very walls of the house.

Mattie sat one morning at the breakfast table, pushing her eggs around on her plate. Jean sat across from her doing the same.

"Your shift starts soon. You'll want to make a move," she cautioned kindly.

"Yes," Mattie agreed, unable to suppress a sad sigh.

"Will you be home for lunch today?" Jean asked.

"I think so. I'll call if something comes up, but you can plan on me being here."

Jean nodded. "Alright. I'll see you then."

Mattie hurried off to work, feeling absolutely no motivation to do so. There was a case in a boarding house of a patient Mattie had some concerns about, and she wanted more than anything to ask Lucien about it. The doctors at Ballarat Hospital didn't take too kindly to a young district nurse poking her head where it didn't belong; none of those men took her seriously, so she rarely tried to seek their opinions anymore. But Lucien always listened to her. Lucien valued her medical judgement, helped her learn and encouraged her curiosity and trained her to do better patient care. It was hard to be excited about her work when Lucien wasn't around to share it, as depressing as that was. Perhaps she might look into expanding her field. Social work had always interested her, and there would be better opportunities for advancement there. Mattie knew that without Lucien, her medical training would plateau and stall here in Ballarat. Though she wasn't sure if she wanted to stay in Ballarat permanently anyway. It was a small town full of small minds, but she'd found a home there in a way she never had before in Melbourne. It was all a lot to consider. And if Lucien was going to be gone in China for an indeterminate amount of time—if he ever came back at all—things would be different, and Mattie would need to be prepared.

By the time lunch rolled around, she was glad to be going back to the house. She would ask Jean her opinion on the social work idea, whether she thought it was a good idea. Jean Beazley was very old-fashioned, but she was intelligent and kind and very wise. Mattie trusted her in a way she'd never been able to trust her own mother.

But when Mattie arrived back at the Blake house, she found the oddest thing. Jean was sitting at Lucien's desk in his study with a glass of whiskey poured beside her and what looked like a pocket watch in her hand. She was examining it, turning it over and over, between sips of whiskey. As Mattie watched Jean, she noticed that the light had gone out in the older woman's eyes. Before Lucien had left, Jean had been smiling and humming almost constantly. Now, that seemed a relic of another age. Jean had told Mattie that she hadn't ever gone out with that man, James, from Mildura, but that the weather was just so lovely that it put her in a good mood. Well, the weather was still lovely. Jean seemed unaffected by it now. If Mattie didn't know better, she'd think she was watching a woman who had gotten her heart broken.

"Jean?" Mattie called softly, finally making her presence known.

The older woman's head lifted sharply. "Mattie!" she said in surprise. She immediately dropped the watch on the desk and stood up, leaving the half-drunk whiskey where it was. "I lost track of time. Let's get the lunch on."

Mattie was ushered out of the study by Jean, who closed the door tightly behind them. "What were you doing?" she asked, trying to put as much sympathy and kindness into her voice as she could. She wasn't accusing Jean, she wasn't trying to be nosy, she was just a bit concerned.

"Just thinking."

There was a mask over Jean's expression that Mattie now recognized, since it had been missing when Jean was alone in the study. It pained her to see her friend putting up a front, but at the same time, Mattie admired Jean for it. Even when she was obviously upset, Jean would not let it affect others. Jean would take care of everyone, no matter what. Mattie almost envied that kind of strength.

Mattie realized that she shouldn't press, so she didn't ask Jean what she was thinking about. She had some idea of what it might be.

Jean bustled around the kitchen, slicing bread and chicken and lettuce and tomato for the sandwiches. She should have done it half an hour earlier, but she'd gotten lost in her thoughts. She was grateful to Mattie for not intruding too much on her solitary gloom. For what could she say? That she'd realize that she'd been abandoned by a man she loved for the second time? That, as with the first time, she was unsure what fate had in store during the absence?

The two circumstances were entirely different, of course. Christopher had gone off to war, just as so many husbands and sons and brothers had done during that time. Christopher had left her to seek glory and to fight for the safety of their country. Christopher had fought valiantly and died in battle.

Lucien, on the other hand, had gone to see his family. His real family. His wife and his daughter were his real family, not the housekeeper and lodgers who shared his father's house in Ballarat. Jean couldn't even bring herself to call it Lucien's home, for she felt that especially now, he did not think of it as such.

But the fact remained that she had loved her husband, and he had left her, and he had died, and she had been alone ever since. And now she thought that she was beginning to fall in love with Lucien, and he had left her, and he would either stay in China or bring his family back to Australia. Either way, she would be alone again. And once again, she would be the last to know when it happened. It had taken the army months to inform her of Christopher's death. Would it take Lucien months to remember her existence and send word of his decisions? She could not keep the house indefinitely in his absence, and she was quite sure that seeing him with his family and having to serve them while being constantly reminded of the dark corners where he had kissed her passionately would be more than she could bear.

And what if Lucien never even made it to China? The voyage was not an easy one, she imagined. What if his ship had sunk or some other disaster tore him asunder? Would anyone inform her of his fate? Or would it be months and months of hoping and worrying before men in uniform came to give her the worst news imaginable? Perhaps in such a circumstance, they would merely send a letter.

No matter what had happened to Lucien and to his wife and his child, Jean herself was not privileged to be a part of it. Lucien had found what he'd been longing for. He probably viewed Jean and their romance, as much of a romance as she could pretend they'd had, as a nice distraction. Jean knew she had absolutely no business missing him as she did, drinking his whiskey and sitting at his desk. She had even less business doing those things while thinking about her long-dead husband and holding his pocket watch in her hands. That was one of the few things that had been salvaged from the Solomons for her, Christopher's watch. She kept it in her jewelry box most of the time. But something had made her take it out today.

Jean sighed to herself and finished fixing the lunch. Strange how things could all change so of Lucien just a few weeks earlier had filled her with a warm glow. Now, any thought of Lucien was a dark, cold feeling of loss. And it wasn't as though she could escape him. After all, this was still his house. She was only the housekeeper.


	6. Chapter 6

_Jean,  
I will be arriving in Melbourne on the 17__th__ and I'll be catching the bus to Ballarat the same day. I'm coming home. I've missed you. See you soon.  
With affection,  
Lucien_

As she sat at the kitchen table, Jean traced the words of Lucien's pen with her finger, trying to figure out what on earth this was supposed to mean. The seventeenth was only two days away. She would check the bus schedule to see what time to expect him. Should she go to the station to pick him up in the car? That would be the polite thing to do. That was probably his aim in telling her that he'd be coming by bus. But his letter did not tell very much.

There was so much going on in her head, Jean wasn't even sure where to start. The date he was coming home, that was the one thing she was sure about. He'd said he was coming home. He still considered Ballarat home. That was surely a good sign, wasn't it? Well, 'good' seemed a relative term.

Two months since he left to reunite with his family. Not a single word from him since the day he left. And now just this short note. At the very least, it was proof he was still alive. That had been one of concerns, after all. But now why was he coming back? Had things not gone well in China? Or had things gone so well that he was returning just to settle his affairs and then go back to his wife and child? Or was he bringing his family back with him?

If Jean were honest with herself, that was the most pressing question to her mind. Was he coming home alone, or would she have a Mrs. Blake as the mistress of the house and a young girl to help care for? She was ashamed to even think such a thing, but Jean instantly knew that she wouldn't be able to stay on if Lucien was going to live in his father's house—his house—with his wife. Jean knew she should be happy for him, that he'd found his family and could be with them once again. But she felt no good feelings at the prospect. When Lucien left, they had been spending every spare moment kissing passionately in every corner of the house. She had dreamed of a future with that man, had allowed herself to have hope for romance and happiness for the first time in so very long. And it all came down around her ears. There was no hope for Jean with Lucien anymore, that much was certain. But she was certain that she could not survive watching him with another woman day in and day out. Even if that woman was his wife. Jean did not kid herself to think she had any claim over him. He was married and that's all there was to it.

But oh, the rest of his short letter! He missed her, and he signed it 'with affection.' Those words were perhaps the cruelest of all. For when she read of his affection for her and of how he missed her, she could not help but feel a flare of hope once more. A hope that she knew must be quashed.

For how could she ever allow him to have any sort of affection for her beyond the fondness an employer might have for his employee? He might have been out of practice for seventeen years, but he was a married man. He had no business feeling any sort of romantic affection for any woman except his wife. Jean could not have that. She could not be party to a man betraying his marriage. Neither of them knew he was married while they were carrying on those few short weeks. Those beautiful weeks where she'd found such joy in his arms. But none of that anymore. She would simply have to forget that anything had ever been between them. She wouldn't be able to live with the guilt otherwise, knowing what she'd done and thought about with another woman's husband.

"Alright, Auntie Jean?"

She looked to see that Danny enter the kitchen, watching her with concern. She had been so engrossed in her thoughts that she hadn't even noticed him come home. "Fine, Danny," she lied.

"You sure? Bad news in that letter there?" he pressed.

Jean forced a smile. "Good news, actually. Lucien is travelling back from China."

Danny's face lit up immediately. "Oh brilliant! When's he coming?"

"Should be here in two days," she told him.

"Are we going meet him at the station?"

"We?"

"Or do you want to go on your own?"

Jean frowned. "No, I think maybe you and Mattie should go pick him up and bring him home. To the house. I'll wait here. I'll make something for dinner."

"I guess that would be fine. I know Mattie's missed him a lot, too. The house isn't really the same without him here. Same with the job. I know he wasn't even around a whole year, but I think we all got used to him. He's a weird one, isn't he?"

She chuckled, "Yes, he certainly is. I don't know that we really got used to that, but it did make for quite a change of pace, didn't it?"

Danny nodded in agreement. "Yeah. And I guess that's what I miss. Things are a bit boring without him."

"Boring isn't always bad, Danny. A bit of predictability and stability never hurt anyone. I think Lucien was just starting to learn that, but of course everything is different now."

"Yeah, I guess it is."

Jean stood up from the table. "I'm going to get dinner on. You go get changed," she instructed.

Danny still seemed wary of her odd mood. And Jean knew she wasn't covering well. At least she had two days to put up a better front. Two days to prepare for the possibility that she would see Lucien happily holding his wife and daughter in the big, strong arms that so briefly had held her. Two days to begin making arrangements for a new position and new lodging, if that wife and daughter were intending to stay in the Blake house. Jean would not be able to feel at home with them there, of that she was quite sure.

But what if Lucien came back alone? And what if he did, and did not intend to go back to China? That seemed an extremely rare possibility. After all, if Jean herself was told that her Christopher was alive, she would move the ends of the earth to be with him and never let him go. He had been her husband, just as Mei Lin had been Lucien's wife. She was still his wife. He belonged with her. Even so, Lucien was never a predictable sort of man. Even if the chance was remote, there was still a chance that when he wrote that he was coming home, he meant he was coming home alone and for good. What then? Could he really be the sort of man who would leave his wife? Jean didn't want to believe such a thing. She didn't want to believe that she could feel as she did for a man who would do something like that. But this was also the man who had refused to see or speak to his own father until the old man was on the brink of death. Perhaps there was a callousness in Lucien Blake that Jean did not want to believe.

She sighed to herself and folded the letter, putting it in her apron pocket for safekeeping. There was work to be getting on with. Danny was upstairs changing out of her uniform and Mattie would be home any minute. She had to get dinner started. Her regular duties would be a nice distraction. She could focus on the cooking and the cleaning, listen to the young boarders tell her all about their days. Mattie always had nice things to say about her patients. Danny loved to gossip about the ongoing cases. Apparently the police station had been sorely missing Lucien's skills as police surgeon. The new head of pathology in the morgue was giving Matthew Lawson plenty of trouble, and Danny had said that the boss was hoping Lucien would be a good intermediary. That remained to be seen, as far as Jean was concerned.

As she chopped the vegetables, Jean began to feel less despondent about everything. Lucien would be coming home. Yes, there were certainly a lot of unanswered questions regarding that statement, but it was true nonetheless.

An altogether more troubling feeling began to flit through Jean's mind. He was coming home. And even if he had a wife and child in tow, at least Jean would get to see him. She knew it was wrong of her, she knew she had no business even allowing such thoughts to enter her mind, but she couldn't help it. She was excited to see him. She was looking forward to having him back home for however long he was staying. Because she had missed him, whether or not it was in the same manner he had written that he missed her. Because even though she knew she shouldn't, Jean knew that she loved him, and she wanted nothing more than to have him back home with her once more.


	7. Chapter 7

Lucien's anxiety mounted all during the bus ride from Melbourne to Ballarat. He was going home, that's what he kept reminding himself. He would see Jean. He needed to speak to her. He desperately needed to see her and to speak with her. He regretted the brevity of his letter, but he couldn't seem to be able to say any more without saying too much. And Lucien knew he needed to do this in person, to discuss things with her and make sure she understood. No matter what anyone else had to say, no matter what all of Ballarat thought of him, no matter what it did to his barely-salvaged life, he needed Jean to understand.

The bus pulled into the station and he craned his neck over the woman and child beside him on the bench to try to look out the window. He tried to look for Jean's chestnut curls, but couldn't seem to find them outside. Perhaps she was running late or was standing elsewhere or waiting in the car.

As Lucien disembarked from the bus, helping the other travelers get their things from the overhead racks and manage the uneven surface of the aisle, he was greeted by a gleeful shout of his name.

Mattie O'Brien was running toward him and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "Lucien, you're home!" she gushed.

He grinned and hugged her right back. "It's good to be home, Mattie. How are you?"

She pulled back from him and smiled brightly. "Better now that you're here. We've all missed you so much!"

"And I've missed you all as well." He looked past her, trying to find the face he sought in the crowds. "Where's Jean?"

"At the house. Danny's got the car down the way. We wanted to make sure to be here to greet you."

His face fell and his heart sank. "Jean didn't come?"

"No, she's getting a very festive supper ready for you. We all wanted to celebrate your homecoming," Mattie told him.

"Right, well, let me get everything sorted and we can go celebrate," he said with a forced smile, trying not to be disappointed that Jean was not the first one he saw.

Meanwhile, Jean was pacing in the kitchen working herself into a right awful tizzy. Danny and Mattie had left nearly a half hour earlier to collect Lucien from the station. Lucien and possibly his rediscovered family. She had spent two days panicking over whether or not his wife would be accompanying him. She had gotten used to referring to another woman as his wife. It felt like a knife in her heart every time she thought about it, but she had gotten used to it nonetheless.

The man she loved was married to another woman. There was a Mrs. Blake who would never be named Jean. And Jean hadn't even let herself fantasize that far when she had thought Lucien was a widower. But now, there could be no such fanciful imaginings. It was a distinct sort of pain, the loss of a dream that you hadn't quite considered. Having the possibility ripped away was a very specific cruelty of the world that Jean had thought she'd never again have to experience. The childish yearnings of travel and education were dashed by the reality of marriage and motherhood. Now, the hopes of a woman in love were dashed by an altogether different marriage.

But then the front door opened. Jean froze where she stood, her heart in her throat and thundering in her ears. She quickly pushed back the flyaway hairs on her head and smoothed the wrinkles of her skirt. She held her head up high and squared her shoulders and went to the foyer.

"Welcome back," she greeted, hoping no one noticed the slight catch in her voice.

Lucien hung his hat on his usual peg and turned to look at her. His entire face lit up. "Jean," he breathed in awe.

Danny came in carrying Lucien's trunk and closed the door behind him. Jean moved aside to let Danny through and looked at the closed door over Lucien's shoulder. No one else. Just Lucien. But what did that mean?

Mattie either did not notice or chose to ignore the heavy tension in the entryway. "Come on, Lucien, I bet you're starving. Wait till you see what Jean's made."

"I'm sure it's wonderful," he replied softly, his eyes still trained on Jean. He took a few steps forward to follow Mattie, and Jean looked down at her shoes. Lucien paused in front of her, letting Mattie go to the kitchen alone. He placed a wary hand on Jean's arm. "Jean…" he murmured.

She swallowed hard but could not find words. And she did not look up at him. For Jean knew that if she looked in his eyes when he stood this close beside her, she would surely burst into tears. Whether from joy or sorrow or fear or whatever else, she was entirely uncertain.

Sensing that she would not respond to him, Lucien took his hand and moved away. But Jean caught his arm this time.

"Lucien," she said quietly.

"Yes?" he asked, turning back toward her with the flicker of foolish hope in his eyes.

"Welcome…welcome home."

And at those words, they both shared a smile.

Just then, Danny returned from depositing Lucien's trunk in his room. "I'm starving. Is the dinner on?"

The spell was broken, and the four residents of the Blake house all converged in the kitchen, the central location of all their jolly family affairs in the six months they'd all been together before Lucien's departure. But now he was home and they were all together again.

As she served the exquisite lamb roast with gravy and scalloped potatoes and steamed veg—all of Lucien's favorite homecooked things—Jean felt a sense of calm and wholeness that had been lacking for quite some time. Her worries and fears melted away as Danny excitedly told Lucien about the police cases, as Mattie teased him and asked Lucien's medical opinion on her patients, as they all laughed. Jean gazed at these three people she loved so dearly, her slightly reckless nephew, her headstrong almost-daughter, her beloved employer. She took her seat at the table and knew without a shadow of a doubt that she belonged here with them, and they belonged right here with her. No matter what came next, she could hold on to this certainty, this powerful sense of home.

"Lucien, tell us about China," Mattie requested. "Did you see your wife and daughter?"

"Yeah, what's China like? Anyone speak English? I can't imagine how anyone reads anything with all those weird slashes and ticks," Danny commented.

Lucien gave a slightly withering look at the young constable. "China was incredible. Some people do speak English, Danny, particularly the British officers still stationed there and the local Chinese people who work closely with them. But I myself speak Mandarin, which is written with the slashes and ticks, which I can also read and write myself." He took a sip of wine and turned his attention back to Mattie, being through chiding Danny for his ethnocentrism. "And yes, Mattie, I did see my wife and daughter. Li is twenty-three now. She's a lovely young woman, incredibly bright. Not really the precocious little girl I last saw, as she's engaged to be married."

"How lovely," Mattie said with a smile.

He nodded. "Yes, her fiancé is a very nice chap. Threw him a bit, knowing he would be marrying a woman whose father is Caucasian, but he got used to me."

Jean sat quietly, pushing food around on her plate and doing her best not to scream and ask about his wife.

"And your wife?" Mattie asked. Jean said a silent prayer in thanks.

"Mei Lin is very well. She lives with Li, and she'll live with the newlyweds when they marry, as is a Chinese tradition. The war years were very hard for her, trying to care for a young child in a country she'd not seen since she was very young herself. But she's always been very strong-willed, Mei Lin. She did very well, working in a factory for many years. And now she has a very happy life, keeping the house for Li, who works as a seamstress." Lucien smiled softly, thinking of his dear family. "They're wonderful. The both of them are just wonderful. And to see them again after so long was…" He trailed off, feeling a lump form in his throat.

A slightly awkward silence settled around them all. Danny, having about as much emotional sensitivity as a thimble, asked, "So are you going back there?"

"No, I shouldn't think so. They have their life. And I am not a part of it," Lucien answered somewhat cryptically.

Jean held her breath. She wasn't even sure why. But there was the distinct tension of something in the air, and she felt as though the air leaving her lungs might send everything crumbling down. She had felt this same way when those uniformed men showed up at her farmhouse with their hats in their hands and in one sentence shattered her whole world with news of Christopher's death.

Mattie pressed on with Lucien, ignoring Jean's private turmoil. "Were you not welcome? I mean, they're your family."

"Oh they were both very courteous. But it was just very clear to all three of us within a few days, after the shock of it had worn off us all, that we simply did not belong anymore. Mei Lin is independent and she likes it that way. Li barely remembered me at all."

Lucien told them all this rather matter-of-factly. For what else could he say? It was the truth, as much as it pained him. He was not unwelcome with Mei Lin and Li, but he also was not made to feel at home there. It was not his home. Not in any sense. Not a single thing about China was home. And being there had made Lucien powerfully homesick indeed.

He continued on, "And I…well, I've got my life here, haven't I? How could I pick up and go to China when I've got so much more here waiting for me?" he said, gazing into Jean's eyes with an easy smile.

Did she know? Did Jean know that when he looked at her, he felt at home for the first time since the day he had walked out the front door? Did she know how he ached for her every moment they were apart? Had she missed him as much as he had missed her? Could she feel his yearning for her all the way from China? Could she feel it now when they were sitting across the table from one another?

Finally, Lucien announced, "And that's why Mei Lin will be petitioning for a divorce."

Jean exhaled without realizing it. But it didn't matter anymore. The tension had reached critical mass. That one single sentence had shattered her whole world.


	8. Chapter 8

Jean kept to herself, keeping her stiff upper lip and her head held high, as though nothing was amiss. She needed to maintain the façade of her coolness, her strength. But her eyes were cast downward as she tried to focus on her food and on her task in cleaning up the meal. If Lucien noticed her quiet mood, he did not comment, not while Danny and Mattie were chatting happily.

Mattie and Danny both had expressed their sympathy for the end of Lucien's marriage, knowing how excited he had been to leave Ballarat and see his family once again. Lucien accepted their sentiments but waved them off. Jean noticed he did not seem too upset. Quite the opposite, in fact. And Lucien Blake had never been one to hide his feelings on any matter; if he was upset about something, depressed or angry, he had no problem being visibly broody about the thing. He, unlike Jean, had never been forced to tamp down his feelings to get on with duty. A man from a certain background is privileged in that regard, the way a housekeeper could never dream of being. So Jean kept to herself and let Mattie and Danny continue to chat and laugh with Lucien.

But the young people were not without their sensitivities. Mattie was watching both Jean and Lucien out of the corner of her eye. Both of them had the look about them like there was something they wanted to say but weren't brave enough to say it, particularly Jean. And Mattie knew that nothing would change while they were all together like this. She and Danny were ever so pleased to have Lucien back, but Jean certainly did not seem so, nor did Lucien himself. Mattie hoped that a bit of privacy might set them in the right direction.

After they finished eating, Mattie invited Danny out to see some of her mates. Not a regular after-dinner occurrence, but it would get them out of the house for a little while. The look of fear mixed with relief in Jean's eyes was enough to let Mattie know that she'd made the right decision.

And at last, Lucien could be focused on her and not be distracted by the others, having to behave when they were being watched. "Jean," he said in a low tone, approaching her where she stood by the sink, washing dishes. "We're alone," he told her.

He expected her to turn and smile at him, the way she'd done before. He expected her to fall into his arms and kiss him and welcome him home properly. But Jean did nothing of the sort. She didn't respond at all.

Lucien went to the drink cart to pour himself a bit of whiskey. He brought the glass back to the kitchen and stood beside Jean as she worked.

"Shall I dry for you?" he asked, trying a different tack with her. The icy reception was strange, and he needed to figure it out.

"If you like," she replied quietly.

He took a towel and went to work on the pots and pans and plates dripping on the counter. They quietly set about their tasks for a little while. "Jean," he finally began, "are you unhappy with me?"

"I'm fine, Lucien," she replied.

But Lucien realized that this was not an answer to his question. "Are you unhappy that I've come home?"

"It's your home. Your house. A housekeeper is glad to have a house to keep and the master of the house to serve."

There was a coldness in her tone that Lucien did not like one bit. "You know you're not just the housekeeper, Jean."

"No, I am just the housekeeper," she insisted.

He turned off the faucet and took the dish out of her wet hands before grabbing her arm and turning her to face him. "How could you say that? How could you think that, after…?"

Jean shook her head, feeling the lump in her throat and willing herself not to cry in front of him. "That was before, Lucien. But things have changed."

"No, they haven't! Nothing's changed, Jean."

"You're married!" she hissed angrily. "You have a wife and a daughter."

"My daughter is a grown woman. My wife is divorcing me. Nothing between you and I has changed," he tried to explain.

Her jaw dropped in shock. "How could you possibly believe that nothing between us has changed, Lucien?! You are _married_," she told him again.

"Not for much longer! And why do you think that is, Jean? Because of you! Because of how I feel about you!"

It took everything in her not to reach up and slap him right across the face for that remark. "How dare you, Lucien Blake! How dare you abandon your family for the likes of me! How dare you think that I could allow such a thing! Divorce may be acceptable in the eyes of the law, but it is not allowed in the eyes of God. And you think that after knowing that you have a wife still living on earth, that I would accept being your mistress!?"

"No, Jean, I…"

But she would not let him try to defend himself from that. There was a fire in of righteousness all over her face as she began to shout through the catch in her voice and the tears welling up in her eyes. "You are exactly the man I thought you were when you got here. You are exactly the man your father warned me you were. You are selfish and immoral, and you shirk responsibility except to your own whims. And you may very well be content to flit about the world seeking only your own amusement, but I will not be party to it. I am your housekeeper, but nothing more. Do not think for one moment that I will accept being a prize for you after you've tossed your family aside."

The harsh cruelty of her words cut him to the quick. He felt as though she struck him, fired a white-hot arrow through his heart. "Is that what you think of me?" he choked out. "After all we came to mean to each other, after all that we've shared, you really think so little of me?"

She opened her mouth, about to tell him that his actions spoke for themselves, but he did not allow her to speak. His quiet disbelief was quickly turning to loud outrage.

"For seventeen years, I have been without my family. I sent them away to keep them safe and alive, because I was selfish and kept them with me in Singapore far longer than I should have. And then I was captured and beaten and starved and tortured, and the only thing that kept me alive was knowing that I had to get back to Mei Lin and to Li. I could not give in to death and leave them to fend without me. I survived, and I searched for them. For more than ten years, I searched for them. I went to Hong Kong without a penny to try to find them. I joined the army again, after everything I suffered, because it would keep me in contact with the people who could help me search for them. I have not abandoned them for one single moment!"

"Then why are you now? Why would you ever give her up after you've found her?" Jean countered, her volume increasing to match his.

"Because of you!" Lucien bellowed. He swallowed hard, chest heaving with emotion, as he explained, "Because I came to my father's house a broken man. I came here with a soul unfit for anything but punishment for my failure to save them and to find them and to rescue them from hardship. And it was you who stitched me back together. In those seventeen years, I did not abandon my family, but I abandoned myself, and I had abandoned hope. I was a hollow shell, not knowing what else to do but drink myself into a stupor."

Lucien shook his head, remembering the darkness of the man he once was, the darkness he had been able to leave behind, finally.

He pleaded with her. "And you saw better in me. You saw me as having value and skill to help others, to be a doctor again. To have some sort of purpose. You made me better, Jean, because you made me want to be better."

Silent tears fell down her cheeks. She had no words in response, for she hated her heart for softening toward him.

"Seventeen years, Jean. I had hope for a happy life for the first time in seventeen years. And then that letter came. I should have explained to you better before I left, I can see that now. Because when I left, I felt much the same as I know you do now, that there could be nothing between us when my wife was alive and well. It was Mei Lin who I married and committed my life to, and I had no intention of giving that up. But do you have any idea what it felt like to be told by my own wife that it was clear I loved another? That our marriage was in the past, and the only hope for a future for either of us was if we were to set each other free? I did not ask her for a divorce, Jean. I tried to convince her otherwise, to show my devotion to her and to our family and our marriage. But Mei Lin has always been a very wise woman. And she knew better. And she was right, I finally came to understand. She and I, that is our past. But everything that's happened to us both since we bid each other goodbye on the Singapore docks, it's changed us. We don't belong together anymore. And as I journeyed home, I thought that it was because I now belong to you." He sighed sadly and ended his impassioned rant with a cold, bitter twinge to his voice. "But if you could believe such vile things about me, I suppose I was wrong."

Lucien turned and stormed out of the kitchen. Jean stood there numbly until she was jolted by the sound of a door being slammed. She blinked away the tears and wiped her cheeks with her palms. And then she turned back to the sink and finished washing the dishes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: M-rating for this chapter**

Jean waited. Jean waited until she had finished cleaning the kitchen. Jean waited until she had gone up to her room and changed into her night things. Jean certainly waited until she heard the hushed sounds of Danny and Mattie coming home. And when the house had gone quiet again, Jean snuck downstairs.

She assumed that Lucien had shut himself in his study to drink till he passed out at his desk. That was what he always did when he was upset, after all. But the door to the study was open and the room was dark. Lucien wasn't in the study. But there was a light coming from under the closed door to his bedroom.

For a moment, she hesitated. She couldn't very well go to his bedroom late at night like this. But at the same time…she could not go to bed without speaking to him. The things she had said to him. The things he had said to her. They could not let that lie. Not now, not that he was home.

Ever so softly, Jean tapped on his bedroom door. There was no response. She knocked a bit louder and whispered his name.

Lucien opened the door sharply. He was wearing his pyjamas and no dressing gown. "Jean?" he asked, clearly surprised to see her.

"I wanted to talk, if that's alright," she murmured, her eyes cast downward.

"Yes, of course," he answered. He stood aside for her to come into his bedroom and closed the door behind them. The room was dark, save for the glowing yellow light from the bedside lamp.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," Jean said awkwardly.

"It's alright, Jean," Lucien assured her. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"

She looked up at him sharply, slightly amazed he would ask such a question, as though after the horrific fight they'd had in the kitchen that she would come to him late at night under cover of darkness to ask him what he wanted for supper next week. But she answered him plainly and honestly. "I couldn't leave things between us like that."

"No?"

Jean shook her head. "I don't believe those things about you, Lucien. I know you better than that."

His brow was furrowed in consternation. "Do you, Jean?"

"Yes, I do. I know you've suffered and grieved. I know you've fought and scraped for every bit of happiness you've found."

"And so have you."

Her breath caught in her throat, but she pressed forward, needing to tell him what she'd set out to say. "And I know you're a good man. I couldn't love you if you weren't."

Lucien's jaw dropped. "Do…do you love me?"

Jean smiled softly, putting a gentle hand on his arm. "Yes, of course."

His eyes were wide and shining hauntingly in the dim light. "And I love you, Jean, so much. I've longed for you since the moment I left, I ached for your guidance and counsel as everything in China went from hopeful to hopeless in one fell swoop." He took both of her hands in his, the yearning evident in his touch and in his face. "And I've needed you, my darling, more than I can say. I love you, Jean, let me love you."

There was nothing for it then. No more words needed to be said. Things between them were not settled, everything was still new and uncertain. But there was nothing for it in that moment. Jean lifted her face toward his as her eyes fluttered closed.

Lucien met her in a fervent kiss. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight against him. Her lips parted beneath hers and his tongue surged into his mouth, making her moan and whimper.

She clutched the back of his neck to anchor his face to hers and took few stumbling steps forward until he fell backward onto the bed and Jean fell right on top of him. They broke apart, breathing heavily, but only for a moment. Jean adjusted herself to straddle his hips and leaned in to kiss him again, and her fingers attacking the buttons on his shirt.

If Jean had paused for even a moment to consider what she was doing, perhaps she would have put a stop to it. But she had not thought. She had not let her mind twist her heart up the way it had all those months Lucien had been away and all through dinner as she tried to cling to what was proper and ignoring the truth of his love and the truth of hers. For now, she did not think. She only felt. She only loved.

His hands traveled up her legs, hiking up her long nightgown. She unhanded him and sat up to push the shirt off his body, and he took the opportunity to untie her dressing gown. She shrugged it off and was even so bold as to pull her nightgown off as well.

"Jean, oh god, Jean," he groaned, seeing her body bared to him for the first time.

And surprising herself most of all, Jean did not blush or turn away from him. He sat perched on his lap and smiled. She had him here, all to herself, and he loved her as she loved him, and he was home, and they were together.

"Kiss me," he requested.

Jean beamed as she leaned down over him once more, placing her forearms on the bed on either side of his head and firmly pressing her lips to his. Lucien's large hands traced up her thighs and hips and waist and settled on her back, hugging her close to him. As soon as she came up for air, he rolled them over so he could hover above her body. Jean began to laugh happily. "I love you." The words fell from her lips unhindered. Something that had seemed so unlikely and so rare was now real, and they held it in their arms.

"And I love you," he replied before giving her a searing kiss. Her mouth opened to him without his prompting once again and their tongues tangled sensuously together. Jean racked her nails over his back as she writhed beneath him and moaned softly into his mouth.

Lucien wasn't quite sure where to start. He wanted her so badly, his mind was in a complete fog of lust. Before he'd left for China, he had fantasized and imagined what it would be like to have Jean, what he'd do, what she'd taste like, what sort of noises she'd make. But in the time they were apart, his regard for her had turned from the physical to the emotional. His need for her was in _her_, not just her body. And now that the time had finally come, every single idea he'd ever had seemed to float out of his mind. All that existed was Jean, here and now, and his utter undying love for her.

For starters, he began to kiss down her neck, his tongue tracing her tendons, his teeth nipping at the curve of her collarbone, until he reached her full, pert breasts. "Christ, you're perfect," he breathed. He didn't give Jean any opportunity to reply before taking her hardened nipple between his teeth and sucking hard. She arched into his touch, reveling in the scratch of his beard against her sensitive flesh, and gave a high-pitched gasp of pleasure. Lucien alternated his attentions, delighting in every sound and every movement she made. He made his way lower, tracing his tongue over her lean belly and pressing soft, reverent kisses to her.

Jean, however, was getting impatient. She reached down to push Lucien's trousers and trunks off his hips. Her hand found him already hard for her. She let her palm slide lightly down his shaft and back up before her fingers curled around his thickness. Lucien pressed his mouth against her breast to muffle his groan. Jean bit her bottom lip, trying not to shy away, to take pride in making him so unhinged like this.

Lucien backed out of her grasp and sat up to pull off the rest of his pyjamas and toss them over the side of the bed. He gazed down at Jean, flushed and wanton.

She watched his eyes roam her body. They were dark and hungry for her. The longing in his expression nearly made her shiver with arousal. "Lucien," she whined, reaching for him, letting him know that she wanted him.

Without much more pretense, Lucien lined himself up with her entrance, rubbing against her and spreading her wetness. She was practically dripping for him, and he had to take a few deep breaths to calm himself and not come at that thought alone. Gently, he pushed inside her, shallow at first, then all the way out and slightly deeper. He continued with agonizing slowness until he thrust completely inside her. Jean shifted her hips to accommodate him. She was already breathing heavily and trembling. Lucien could feel her walls fluttering around him, and again he needed to exercise restraint. He knew he couldn't last too long, but he couldn't disappoint. Lucien began to move inside her, setting a steady pace. Jean wrapped her thighs around his waist, crossing her ankles at his lower back to pull him in as deep as he could go.

She felt incredible. Better than anything he'd ever experienced or imagined. For Lucien, perfection in every sense existed only one place, and it was Jean Beazley. The way she felt and moved, and the way she moaned his name. Her eyes fluttered closed as sensation overtook her, but she struggled to keep her eyes glued to his.

Jean had never known such perfect bliss. It had been so long since any man had made love to her, though she had always enjoyed such things in the past. But Lucien was something else altogether. She'd thought that he would take her hard and fast, matching his powerful and insistent nature, but here, his tender and loving side won the day. The deep devotion and care he always showed her was at work. She thought she might weep with the beauty of his love coursing through her. He filled and stretched her, reaching deep into where she needed him most. He shifted his weight, changing their angle slightly and added friction in just the right place. Jean felt her climax build her up and up until she snapped, pressing her face into his shoulder to keep from crying out.

Lucien was clenched in the vice grip of her orgasm and came only a moment after she did. He stilled inside her and collapsed, burying his face in her neck. He tried to keep his full weight off her, but for the life of him, he couldn't seem to move. Even as he was going soft inside her, he remained nearly comatose on top of her.

As she struggled to catch her breath, Jean stroked his hair, damp from sweat and curling, and traced lazy patterns on his scarred back. They couldn't stay like this forever, but for now, it was perfect. Everything was absolutely perfect.

"Jean," he croaked.

"Lucien," she replied, feeling the bliss of everything in the whole world in her arms, then and there. She placed feather-light kisses on the shell of his ear.

"I didn't…" Lucien trailed off, not knowing what to say. He didn't mean to lose control like that. He didn't mean to make love to her. But he could not say that, for he could not regret a single moment of it.

Lucien dozed off on top of her, so Jean never heard what he intended to say. But she didn't care. She closed her eyes and held him close, and she smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

"Jean, darling."

Lucien's soft voice woke her. Her eyes blinked open. The room was dark but there was a dim light coming through the crack in the curtains. "What is it?" she asked, her mind and her voice very groggy.

He gently stroked her hair and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. "I wasn't sure if you'd mind waking up here or not. It's just past four, and we're here in my bed together. We both fell asleep after we made love last night," he reminded her. His voice was barely over a whisper. All he wanted to do was continue their soft moments in his bed, with Jean in his bed, still warm and mussed and smelling like sex. It may have been four in the morning, but he'd never woken up happier in all his life.

Jean did not respond immediately. There was a mighty war being waged in her head, and she had no clue which side might triumph.

Lucien waited patiently for her, continuing his gentle kisses and caresses. There was no heat or passion in his touch, for which she was grateful, only affection and quiet comfort. And that gave her the push she needed.

"I've got to get up," she eventually said. "But I don't want to."

He smiled so brightly, he thought his face might break. "One day, we can wake up together and not worry about the propriety of it."

She sighed. "One day. But not today."

Jean sat up and scrubbed her face with her hands. At least she'd had the good sense to remove her makeup before coming to Lucien's room the night before. Though when she'd come to Lucien's room, staying the night had not been her intentions. Making passionate love to him certainly had not been her intention. And yet, that's precisely what she did.

"Oh no, I don't want to," she muttered to herself, voice muffled against her hands.

Lucien sat up and put his arm around her, pressing more light kisses to her bare shoulder. "Don't want to go?"

"No, but that's not what I mean, I just…" She looked up at him and furrowed her brow in frustration.

"What?" he asked. "Please, Jean, I don't want you to keep things from me. Not now."

"We shouldn't have done that," she said quietly.

His heart dropped to his stomach and he pulled away from her. "You…you regret it? Us?"

Jean felt a lump forming in her throat and so she kept her face in her hands as she spoke, knowing she could not look at his dear face just now. "You are not my husband. Actually, you're someone else's husband." She shifted to hold the bedsheet over her bare body for some semblance of modestly. "What we've done is a sin, Lucien," she whispered. Her voice wouldn't seem to let itself be any louder.

"But darling, we love each other. Expressing that love can't be a sin." Lucien tentatively reached his hand back toward her, his fingertips barely touching the elegant column of her spine. "We do love each other, don't we?" he asked.

"Yes, but that isn't enough." She despised the truth of the words she uttered. "It isn't enough that we are in love. There's a proper way to do things. And we've spat in the face of it."

He sighed, clearly frustrated by her insistent morality. "Why is it not enough that we are in love?"

"Because we aren't married. There are _rules_, Lucien," Jean insisted. And she was starting to become cross. Was he being purposefully obtuse? She knew all too well that he shirked all religion long ago, but that did not mean he couldn't understand.

"So you do regret it," he surmised with heart-wrenching disappointment.

Jean fell silent. For she did not know what to say. She did not want to lie to him. But she also could not bear to speak the truth. To say such things out loud would be the end of her, she knew.

Lucien allowed the quiet between them. The sunrise was inching ever closer through the tiny gap in the curtains, and given Jean's strange evasion, he knew that she would scurry from his bed sooner rather than later. Why could they not just enjoy this moment? He had woken up so very happy, so full of love for this woman he had missed during his seemingly endless sojourn to China. Without Jean, nothing had made sense. He had been lost and confused and anxious and entirely malcontent. Even with the beautiful reunion with his family, he felt like a part of him was empty. Before, that emptiness was always the loss of Mei Lin and Li, the guilt he felt for their demise. But when he had them back, he felt a different kind of emptiness, and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize that it was Jean. Jean he missed, Jean he loved, Jean he needed. And now he had her! They had joined together in the most incredible manner, fallen asleep in the shelter of each other's arms after being lost to the throes of passion. He loved this woman, loved her so much he physically ached for her all that time they were apart. But when he had returned home, she had been so distant and cold and cruel with her words to him, only to turn around and come to his room late at night and apologize and profess her love and allow them to fall together. In the light of day—though the daylight had not yet fully risen—what was it that had changed?

She was religious, he knew. Of course he knew. She had gone to church every Sunday and sometimes Wednesdays during the months they'd shared this house together. He knew she was devout. But somehow, he had envisioned her as needing the Church for the community it provided her rather than any actual spiritual tenants she clung to. Perhaps he had been wrong about that. For Lucien, such things had never held much sway, not even when he was a young boy. The idea of faith had long since died in his heart and, much as it pained him here and now, he could not quite understand what such belief could possibly feel like.

Her silence was very telling. She did regret it. He had given her his heart and his life in every way he knew how, and she regretted it. And so he hastened her departure, knowing that having her naked in his bed and regretting how she'd gotten there was far too painful to endure for much longer. "You're welcome to use my bathroom before you go up to your room.

Jean turned and searched his face. What she was looking for, he couldn't quite say. But her search ended quickly. She slid out of bed and picked up her dressing gown from the end of the bed, slipping it on before hurrying into the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

Lucien fell back onto the bed and scrubbed his face with his hands. A heavy weight of depression was starting to settle over him and, in that moment, he welcomed it.

In the bathroom, Jean used the loo and washed her face and hands, trying to wake herself up. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror scrutinizing what she saw. Her skin looked surprisingly bright. Her eyes, however, had a very worrisome dimness. She caught a glimpse of the red mark Lucien's mouth had left on her breast and she could not help but smile. But she stopped that very quickly. No good would come from that. Jean ran her fingers through her hair, trying not to be too bothered that she'd slept without her curlers and now she'd have a devil of the time looking presentable. She sighed. That was a problem for upstairs. Not something to be concerned with in Lucien's bathroom. Jean quickly tied her dressing gown tight around her body. She could carry her nightgown upstairs to her room. No one would be up this early to see her and wonder.

Her hand paused as it reached for the door handle. What was she going to say to him? What could she even think to say? Her heart and her mind were at war, and she knew now which one was winning. And she could not determine whether or not that was for the best.

But Jean Beazley was not a woman who let her fears overcome her. She had to get on with her day and get on with her life and figure out what to do. Standing in the bathroom paralyzed by all of this would do her absolutely no good whatsoever.

Lucien sat up when the bathroom door opened. "Jean?"

"Yes?" she replied, her voice catching slightly.

"I am sorry you're upset. I can't apologize for what we've done though, for if I did, it would be a lie. And I don't ever want to lie to you," he told her quietly.

And with those simple, kind words, Jean made up her mind to tell him what was bothering her, and she confessed her struggle. "I don't regret what we did, Lucien. But I know I should. I know it was wrong, but I don't feel regret. I love you very much. I wanted to make love to you. And I'm sure I will want to do so again. But I shouldn't. It is a sin to have such relations before marriage and a much bigger sin to have such relations with a married man. I know that. But I also know that I love you. And quite honestly, I just don't want to hate myself for loving you."

Jean scooped up her clothes and swiftly left the bedroom, closing the door silently behind her. Time to get on with the day.


	11. Chapter 11

Jean took a bath and dressed as quickly and efficiently as she could. Her hair was an absolute mess, but a bit of brushing controlled the chaos enough for her to be presentable. By the time she was ready for the day, the feeling of panic that had plagued her all morning was reduced to a quiet hum in the back of her mind.

Mattie came to the kitchen first, greeting her warmly. Jean did her best to appear normal, asking the young nurse about her day and whether she would be home for lunch. Jean even had a few minutes to sit and have a cup of tea before Danny came down in his uniform, asking for toast and jam.

Whether he planned it that way or not, everyone was in the full swing of breakfast when Lucien arrived on the kitchen. "Good morning, all," he greeted. Jean noticed that his pleasant grin did not reach his eyes. The overwhelming pang of guilt settled heavy in her stomach.

Breakfast was a rather subdued affair, though Danny pestered the doctor with information about the police force and such, hoping there would be a case that required the police surgeon that day. "Just like old times, eh?" Danny said with an optimistic grin. Mattie just rolled her eyes.

Thankfully, the young people had to go to work, leaving the house free of onlookers. Lucien, having just got back the night before, had nothing in particular planned for the day. His appointment book would surely begin to fill with patients as the word got around that Dr. Blake had returned home. But for now, he was rather free. Which suited him just fine, considering the turmoil that he and Jean had gone through in the last twelve hours.

"Jean," he called softly as she stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes. Just as she had the night before.

But this time, she did not react coldly to him or ignore him or brush him off. This time, she shut off the water and wiped her hands, turning around to him. Her eyes were filled with tears. "Lucien, I don't know what to do," she confessed.

He longed for nothing more than to pull her into his arms, to hold her and protect her and never let her go. And maybe one day he could. But today was not that day.

If he had been a better sort of man, Lucien might have sat with her and spoken softly, asked her to talk about what bothered her, asked her how to make her feel better, listened to what she had to say. If he had any sense at all, in fact, he would have said any number of sympathetic things and explained his point of view, showing her that he recognized his own shortcomings.

But Lucien didn't do any of that. No, instead he just told her, "I don't know how to help you, Jean."

Her chin wobbled as she tried to blink back her tears. She just shook her head and walked right past him out the kitchen. And before he knew it, she had slammed the front door closed behind her. Lucien had the good sense not to follow her.

All her life, Jean had found comfort in one place. When her parents were barely able to put food on the table and send her to school, when she was abandoned by everyone else after Christopher got her pregnant and married her as soon as possible, when she lost her first baby, she found herself a war widow, when she was left by her children with only a failing farm. And now. Now, when she was lost and isolated and had never felt more alone, Jean knew there was only one place she could go. It was, in fact, the one place she feared now more than any other. But that was precisely why she needed to go there.

Sacred Heart had an intimidating and severe edifice. It had frightened her as a child. But now, its imposing exterior conveyed the strength of the institution it housed. The Church had weathered every storm and always would, and when she was ensconced in her faith, Jean could be just as strong. She walked inside and breathed a sigh of relief. The interior of the church was warm and inviting, filled with candles and gleaming pews and fresh flowers. Jean and her sewing circle took turns with the other ladies in providing the floral arrangements each week. She could not recall off the top of her head who had done it this week, but the dahlias and carnations were lovely.

The confessional had its curtains drawn, meaning that someone was already inside. Jean could not believe her luck. The priest would surely know her identity the moment she spoke; she was no stranger to the church, after all. But not having to look at him directly outside the confessional before this particular confession was a great comfort to her now. She took a seat in the nearby pew and prayed quietly as she waited. Her prayers had very little substance at the moment, so she just silently repeated the prayers she always had. She prayed for Danny and the other police officers to be safe. She prayed for her sons to be happy and well. She prayed for Mattie and all her other friends to have the Lord's favor. She left Lucien out of her prayers for the time being. He had a complicated relationship to God, after all, and God surely had a complicated relationship with Lucien. Jean was in the midst of praying for guidance for herself during this time of struggle when the curtains parted and young Mr. Stewart left. Jean smiled and nodded to him politely before taking his place and drawing the curtains behind her.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession," Jean recited to the priest. Her last confession had been one of pride and envy over a church baking competition when she'd been unreasonably displeased by the results—she'd thought her passionfruit cake ought to have placed higher than Louise Allen's chocolate pie.

"What is your sin, my child?"

Jean was surprised to hear not Father Morton's voice, that old and slightly wavering rasp, but instead the stern, strong voice of Father Emery. The younger priest was relatively new to the parish, and Jean was not certain yet what to make of him. Father Morton had presided over her wedding and the baptisms of her children. He was a fixture in her life. Perhaps it was better that he would not hear this confession from her. She took a deep breath to steel herself. "I have had relations with a man who is not my husband."

That was part one out of the way at least. But there was more to tell. And the way Father Emery said, "I see," seemed to indicate that he knew she was not finished with her confession.

"The man is married." Bombshell dropped. But she heard the next words come out of her mouth before she could stop them. "I did not know he was married when I first lusted after him. But I did know he was married when we had relations. The situation is…complicated."

"Adultery is a grave sin, my child," Father Emery told her sternly.

"Yes, Father. This…this man, though, he had thought he was free, that his wife had died. But he was given word that she is alive. He went to her, and she turned him away. She will be petitioning for divorce." Why Jean was saying all this, she was not sure. Nothing she said would make a difference. She knew the law of the church, she knew that the sin of adultery was not one that could be lessened through her excuses and rationalizations. The fact that Lucien might soon be divorced was irrelevant. In fact, divorce was entirely irrelevant in the eyes of the Church.

Father Emery cut through Jean's stumbling explanations. "None of these things negates your sin of adultery."

Hearing the words of the priest so blatant and unforgiving, speaking the truth that Jean knew but had not wanted to believe, broke through her resolve. She began to cry in earnest, there in the confessional. She pressed her handkerchief to her face to keep from sobbing too much, to keep quiet and with as much dignity as she could attempt to muster. She got her breathing under enough control to whisper, "But I love him." For that was the truest thing she could think to confess in that moment. Yes, she had committed adultery. But she had made love to a man for the simple reason that she loved him. She wanted him and he wanted her, and that was the most precious gift in the world. After so many years as a widow, cold and alone, Jean had finally felt heat and passion and _love_. And yet she was to be punished for it. It hardly felt fair. It hardly felt like the just and loving God in whom she kept her faith.

"Your excuses are the work of the devil, my child. To follow the Lord's path, to bask in the light of Christ who died for our sins, you must repent. You must not give in to the temptation to enjoy the earthly pleasure or mistake it for the divine gift of love. For your penance, I will say the Hail Mary with you," Father Emery offered.

Jean's skin suddenly crawled with discomfit. "No…no, thank you, Father. I think I should go. I will say my penance on my own. When I am more composed."

She did not wait for the priest to respond before she ripped open the curtain and hurried out of the church. She had sought comfort and guidance in this place and was left feeling more confused than ever.

Her feet carried her, wholly without her consent, to Christopher's grave. An empty grave, as so many of them were for the men whose lives had been lost in the war. Jean had barely been able to scrape together enough money to buy a small little headstone to mark the place where her long-dead husband did not lie. She kneeled down in the grass and traced Christopher's name with her finger as she cried.

"I wish I could talk to you, Christopher. Properly, I mean," she whispered between hitched breaths. "You always made me feel better when I was upset. You were always there to be on my side when everyone else was against me. I feel like you're the only one who would understand now. I know what I did was wrong. But what we did was wrong, too. And our life turned out alright, I think. We were happy. We fought and we struggled, but we had a good life together."

Jean did not say out loud that she had not loved Christopher with the same sort of passion and depth with which she had come to love Lucien. But it was entirely different. Christopher was her first love, who took her from a girl to a woman and gave her a family. Lucien found her as a sad, closed-off widow and turned her back into a woman again. He would not give her a family or anything like what she had with Christopher, but that was not what she wanted. She had done all that. What she imagined now with Lucien was so very different. She just wanted to be with him, just the two of them, far away from the prying eyes of the world.

But of course, that is not how anything in life worked. Nothing exists in isolation. Lucien had not seemed to understand that, what with the way he took to carrying on and not giving much thought to his reputation or how he reflected on others. Jean could not live selfishly like that, as much as she might want to now.

"Mrs. Beazley?"

She looked up to see Father Morton shuffling across the grounds toward her. Jean stood up to greet him, wiping her eyes as best she could. "Good morning, Father Morton. How are you?"

"Oh I'm fine," he insisted, waving off her concern. "Just old. It's the way of life, getting old. But how are you, child? You look quite upset."

The old priest's kindness touched her heart. "I am, yes. I just gave my confession to Father Emery."

"Was he not a comfort to you?"

"I don't think my confession was one that deserved comfort," she answered.

"Why don't you come to my office, Mrs. Beazley, and we can talk? I don't like seeing my most pious parishioners so disheartened. I can't imagine you've committed any mortal sins that should leave you crying like that. You're not like some of the others who come here, proclaiming their goodness and doing terrible things behind closed doors, thinking that confession absolves their character as well as their sins. You are a truly good woman, Mrs. Beazley."

Jean did feel guilty for Father Morton's words, that he would believe such goodness about her. But what troubled her more was his attitude towards his other parishioners. Such judgment was for God, not for a priest.

A slight tingle of something made itself known in Jean's chest. Like a spark, threatening to ignite her. She remembered this feeling, though it had not been felt in a very long time. Jean had a recklessness inside her that had gotten her into trouble as a girl, and it was a trait that she had done her best to suppress as she'd grown up. But Jean was feeling a bit reckless now. Reckless and defiant.

"I appreciate your belief in me, Father Morton," she said, "But I think you'd agree with Father Emery's stance on adultery."

Father Morton's eyes widened and his face grew red with emotion. "Have you learned _nothing_, Jean Randall?!" he hissed, lapsing into her maiden name in recognition of the similar sins of her youth. "After the punishment that God struck down upon you for your fornication as a girl? You've now committed adultery!?"

Jean hung her head out of respect, but the spark in her chest was burning bright. "I will return home to do my penance."

"You do that," he replied harshly. "And you'll do well to think very carefully before coming to mass again."

The priest turned away from her then, his invitation to speak in his office well and truly rescinded. And Jean turned as well. She walked through the churchyard with her head held high and a wry little smile on her face. She could be horrified with herself later, but for now, she would hold on to this feeling as long as she possibly could. For the church had provided her no comfort, but it had provided something much more important: clarity.


	12. Chapter 12

Lucien was in the parlor with his eyes closed and listening to music when he heard the front door open and shut. He immediately sprang up and switched off the wireless. "Jean?" he called out, hoping it was she who had come home.

"Yes," she called back. Her voice sounded exhausted.

He hurried to greet her at the door just as she was taking off her coat. "I'm glad you're back. I…I wanted to talk to you."

Jean squared her shoulders as she turned to him. "Yes, alright."

Lucien paused for a moment, looking at her. She was changed, somehow. There was a strength and a fire emanating from her that nearly struck him mute. He had often found himself awed by Jean, her grace and elegance and the capable way she did anything and everything. This was somehow more, though. There was a power in her now that gave him the sudden urge to worship at her feet.

"You wanted to talk?" she prompted, interrupting his gawking at her. She may have been standing tall and proud, but she knew her foundation was shaky. The elation of holding her own against Father Morton was wearing off. Her rightful shame over her actions threatened to overtake her once more. She desperately tried to hold it at bay, to live up to the way Lucien was looking at her now.

He was shaken back to reality. "Yes…yes, let's sit down in here, shall we? Would you like some tea? I can put the kettle on."

A wry smile graced her lips as she listened to her employer fumble about. Only a few months before, she'd had to prod him passive-aggressively to making tea for the both of them when he'd made some for himself, to think of others when he no longer lived all on his own. Times had certainly changed, what with Lucien offering to put the kettle on without any prompting at all. "No, thank you, I'm alright," she told him. "I can make us some later."

She followed him into the parlor and took a seat beside him on the sofa. They were angled toward one another with their knees almost touching. Such a thing would have been wholly inappropriate to Jean's mind, back before when she and Lucien were still getting used to each other. She had certainly wanted to sit this close to him, even before they'd shared a passionate kiss on that very sofa. Now that they had spent the night before making love, concerns about how close together their knees were seemed rather silly. As it was, Lucien's hands were fidgeting with the ends of his waistcoat. Jean sat stone-still, waiting for him to begin.

"Jean, what I said earlier, when I said I didn't know how to help you, I meant that."

A little noise of irritation escaped her lips.

He continued, "But I should have explained. Your faith, Jean, is something I don't fully understand. I wish I did. I wish I could find comfort that way, that the world hadn't ripped such faith from me in its cruelty. But you do have faith, my darling, and when I said I didn't know how to help you, I should have told you that I want to help you, that I want to be here to listen and to talk and whatever you might need. Whatever happens from here, I want to be right by your side through it all."

Jean listened quietly as the man before her laid his humility at her feet. The tenderness of his words touched her deeply. Her chin wobbled a bit as she tried not to cry. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat before she spoke. "My faith has brought me no comfort today," she told him ruefully.

He looked up at her curiously. "Did you go to the church?"

She nodded. "Yes, I gave confession to Father Emery, and he condemned me for the sin of adultery. And I saw Father Morton on the grounds and he spoke to me with such disappointment and outrage."

"What did he say!?" Lucien asked, his voice raising in outrage of his own.

Jean placed a gentle hand on his. "Shh, it's alright. I did not find the comfort I was searching for, but I did realize that…the rules of this world are not black and white. That the Church can guide me and set me on a path, but it cannot perfectly fit every situation. Lucien, I love you, and I know that you love me. And you and your wife do not love each other any longer. Your marriage to her is in name only, I understand that, even if the Church cannot. And love…love is the most divine thing there is. It must be. Love is selfless and makes us want to be better. Love gives us strength when we are afraid and it heals us where we have been broken. Isn't that what we've found?"

Lucien held her hands tightly in his. "Yes. That's exactly it. You made me better, Jean. In loving you, I could heal from the horrors of my past and see a future for us full of joy. I had not imagined anything like that for myself in a very long time."

The tears fell down her cheeks as she smiled and nodded in return. "I was lonely and afraid and closed off from all the dreams I once had. You reawakened me, Lucien. I felt my heart open to that same future of joy because I fell in love with you."

Words seemed to fail them, then. Lucien pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her soft curls. Jean pressed her face into his neck as she laughed and cried through emotions that tumbled out of her without knowing precisely what she was feeling. But one thought pervaded: _This is what I was searching for_.

"Jean," Lucien murmured, stroking her hair.

She sat up and took his face in her hands, love shining from every pore. "Lucien," she answered with a voice just as soft.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. Quick, but full of passion. "I'm going to marry you. As soon as I'm free."

Her eyes went wide, the loving shine of that turquoise blue turning gray with fear. "But…Lucien, what will people say?"

Lucien did not falter. He smiled at her and kissed her once more, softly. "I don't know. People are apt to say all sorts of things. And I say go on and let them say whatever they want. What matters is what you and I say. And I say I love you and I want to marry you. What do you say?"

She stammered a moment before telling him, "I say…Lucien, I don't know!" Her hands fell from his face to her lap. "This is too much, it's all so sudden!"

Again, he did not falter. "Alright. Well, you think on it. I'll be right here when you're ready, Jean."

His gentleness was more than she could bear in this moment when he had handed her his heart and she had not closed her hands to grasp it. He did not push her or rush her. He only loved her, as he had promised he would. Jean had never known such kindness before in all her life. Every time she had not known the right thing to do, she had been punished and pushed aside. Forced into marriage and shunned by her family. Abandoned to war by the husband to whom she did not provide her support. Left by her children who did not want to be smothered.

Lucien, though, Lucien did nothing like that. He swore to be by her side. And he showed it here and now, when she had feared the worst and risked eternal damnation, he only opened his arms to hold her.

And in that moment, she collapsed against his chest and cried. No more happy tears of joy and love, but tears of catharsis as all her past pains flowed through her and finally left her to be free of them. Lucien held her close and stroked her back and soothed her as best he could, patiently waiting for her to finish her weeping.

Eventually, her tears did stop and dried upon her cheeks. Lucien loosened his grip on her so she could sit up. He offered her his handkerchief. "Better? A little?"

She nodded, too worked up to speak.

"It probably isn't the right time to ask, but I wonder if you might like to spend next weekend in Melbourne with me."

"Weekend?" she asked in surprise, her voice quite hoarse from crying.

"We could drive down on Saturday and back home on Sunday. I'll make arrangements for two rooms at the hotel."

Jean finished wiping her face and looked at him with a furrowed brow of confusion. After all, what good was a weekend away if they were in separate rooms? People lied to a hotel register all the time. Surely hotels had seen countless numbers of 'Mr. and Mrs. Smith' asking for a room for the night. "Why?" she asked him warily.

He stroked her cheek, red though it was from her tears. "There's something I want to show you. Something I think might help."

And so Jean agreed to spend the weekend in Melbourne with him, resigning herself to whatever surprise he had in store. Well, Jean could plan a surprise or two on her own. Lucien may arrange two rooms for the night, but Jean felt rather certain they'd only use one.

But she had one last question for him, something that began to niggle at the back of her mind from the moment he announced his intention to marry her. "Lucien, how can you be so certain?"

It was a fair question, to her mind. After all, she had loved Christopher and perhaps would have decided to marry him when he asked, had she not fallen pregnant and lost any option but to marry him. Jean had never really understood how other people did it, falling in love and knowing they were going to spend the rest of their life in wedded bliss to another person.

Lucien thought about it for a moment, not having an answer at the ready that was not simply 'I love you.' She had asked him an earnest, thoughtful question and she deserved an earnest, thoughtful response.

"I think that I have found faith again. You are my faith, Jean."

His words nearly took her breath away as a blooming warmth filled her body. "And I think you are mine."

And with that, any intention Jean may have had to say her Hail Mary in penance of her sins had flown away on the summer breeze. If her love for this man was to condemn her, let her be damned. The next life did not matter, so long as she could spend this one with him.


	13. Chapter 13

Lucien had been a bit cagey about the whole trip to Melbourne. He had informed Mattie and Danny that he needed Jean's assistance with his elderly aunt because she had known Jean from many years before when she had last visited Lucien's father in Ballarat. It was a very skilled deception, one that Jean marveled at slightly. Obviously he had given it a lot of thought. But he carried it out with complete believability. In the back of her mind, the ease with which Lucien could tell a lie made her mildly uneasy. But he had never given her cause to doubt his words towards her. Though then again, if he was such a skilled liar, perhaps she just had not noticed.

But all such worries floated right out of her mind as they drove out of the town limits. They were on the highway with the window open and Lucien's fingers interlaced with hers and resting on top of her knee. He drove with a smile on his face and his other hand casually on the wheel.

"You look very happy," she noted.

He glanced toward her with a beaming grin before turning his attention back to the road. "I feel very happy. I have the woman I love with me for twenty-four blissfully uninterrupted hours."

"I thought you said we were getting two rooms at the hotel?" Jean asked, brow raised in slight challenge.

"Well, interrupted only by the need to sleep, then," he amended.

Jean just hummed, wondering if he was actually going to go through with that charade. "Are you going to tell me what it is you wanted me to see in Melbourne? Or are you going to insist on surprising me?" she asked, changing the topic away from their sleeping arrangements.

"It isn't so much a surprise as it is something I can't really explain. You have to—we have to—experience it firsthand." And that was all the explanation he attempted to give her. He pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed it lovingly, and Jean allowed the subject to be dropped.

Soon enough, they'd arrived in the heart of Melbourne. The smell of the sea was in the wind, though they were not too close to the water. Jean worriedly asked Lucien if he meant to take her to the beach, for she had no intention of putting on a bathing costume. But he just laughed and promised he would not take her to the beach unless she wanted him to.

The porter brought in their bags and the valet went to park the car. The hotel Lucien had brought her to was extremely posh indeed. It was the sort of place that Jean would have never attempted to work in, let alone stay in. She felt decidedly out of place as Lucien offered his arm to escort her into the lobby. Suddenly, she wished she'd worn a hat. And fixed her lipstick. And worn nicer shoes.

"Lucien, what are we doing here?" she hissed.

"We're staying the night in the hotel," he whispered.

She assumed that was the case, but it was not the explanation she was looking for. "But why here? I keep track of the household books, you can't afford two rooms in a place like this."

But he just chuckled and gave her hand an affectionate pat where hit clutched his arm. "I daresay I can."

Jean sighed in resignation.

He paused as they waited to be helped at the registration desk. "Darling, do you trust me?"

Some of the nervous tension left her body at those words. "Yes, Lucien, I trust you."

"That's all I ask," he replied with a soft smile.

The clerk welcomed them to the hotel just then, and Lucien stepped forward to ask for two rooms for the evening and on the highest floor they had available. Jean found that to be a rather odd request, but the building was quite tall and perhaps there was something special about being up on the sixth floor. Jean wasn't sure she had ever been up that high anywhere. In fact, she was certain she hadn't.

They were each given their keys and the porter took their bags up in the lift with them. Their rooms were directly across the hall from each other, which was rather convenient. Lucien tipped the porter and joined Jean in her room for the time being.

"I thought we might go for a walk around the city. Perhaps do a bit of shopping, if anything catches your eye," he offered.

"Lucien, I won't have you spoiling me," Jean chided, though she smiled through her scolding.

He gave her a fond kiss on her forehead. "I couldn't spoil you, Jean. You are absolutely unspoilable."

"Weekend stays in fancy hotels halfway into the sky might change that."

Lucien led her over to the window and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his cheek against her temple as they looked out onto the city together. Jean hugged him closer and sighed happily.

"It really is beautiful here. Everything looks so small from way up here."

"Yes," he agreed quietly. He said nothing but instead pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. Reluctantly, he let her go and took a step away. "I'll let you get freshened up a bit. When you're ready to head out, come knock on my door."

It only took her about ten minutes to fix her face and hang up her clothes in the wardrobe. She would dress for dinner later, but otherwise, she hadn't brought anything too complicated with her.

They wandered the streets of Melbourne blissfully unobserved. No one knew them. No one noticed them. No one cared. Jean was radiant in her joy to take his arm and not be reminded that she was a widow housekeeper getting romantically involved with her married but soon-to-be-divorced employer. The privacy that came with that anonymity was incredibly freeing. She had endured months of whispers about the unwed doctor living in close quarters with the widowed housekeeper. Then after those short days of bliss upon embarking their tentative but passionate romance, he had been called away to his family. She had then spent weeks wondering her place and cursing her heart for allowing him to worm his way into her affections. And now, now they were together and none of that mattered for these two days they could spend alone together in Melbourne.

Lucien tried to insist that Jean find a new dress he could buy her or at least a pair of shoes, but she would have none of it. The window shopping was good enough for her. Besides, if he had bought her something, she would have been plagued with having to find an explanation for it. She was meant to be in Melbourne to assist Lucien with his elderly aunt. How could she justify having come back to Ballarat with a new frock? No, best keep to admiring pretty things through windows.

As the afternoon wore on, they had tea at a sweet little café overlooking the river and then wandered back to the hotel to dress for dinner. Lucien was rather considerate of the time it took for a woman to feel properly prepared for an elegant evening.

Jean had half a mind to wear the dress she'd worn out to their dinner at the Aria, but she thought the better of it. There was another dress she had for a truly special occasion, and when Lucien had told her that he would be wearing a tuxedo to dinner, she knew she finally had the opportunity to wear the gown she'd foolishly made for herself from a pattern Lindy Marshall had in a book ordered from Paris. For nearly four years, the gown had been hidden away in the back of Jean's wardrobe. And now she would finally have the opportunity to wear it. She hurried to get dressed and fix her hair and makeup. It was also in her mind to keep her curls loose; it had been very nice to experience Lucien removing the pins from her hair that evening on the sofa, but she felt much softer with her hair a bit freer around her face.

Lucien arrived to escort her to dinner in the main dining room of the hotel at exactly five minutes before their reservation. Jean was just spraying on the bit of perfume she'd been given by the elder Doctor Blake for her fortieth birthday years before. It had lasted so long only because she used it sparingly and treasured every drop.

"Oh Jean, you look absolutely incredible. Wherever did you find such an exquisite gown?" he asked as soon as she opened the door to him and revealed her attire.

She smiled proudly. "I made it."

"You are a marvel," he told her in admiration of her talents. "I would be proud to stand beside you on any night, my darling, but I think you'll outshine even the stars tonight."

Jean had to blink back tears at his compliments and fight the bright blush that threatened to color her face. She smoothed the pale blue organza fitted over her bodice and flowing down in the skirt and anxiously adjusted the bow tied at her shoulder.

"Shall we?" Lucien offered his arm for her.

She took it and grabbed her clutch bag before closing the door behind her. "I must say, I don't think I've ever seen a more handsome man in a tuxedo," she murmured softly as they made their way to the lift.

"I was a bit concerned about the fit. The jacket still buttons, thankfully, but the shirt is a bit tight. It seems I've spent rather a lot of time being extremely well fed," he confessed.

Jean smirked proudly. "It's my job to keep you well fed. Though perhaps fewer nights sitting around drinking scotch would keep you from gaining weight."

"Would you recommend I spend my nights in some form of physical activity instead?"

"You're the doctor, not me," she said with a laugh.

He whispered in her ear, "Does that mean you'll obey doctor's orders in assisting with my physical activities?" As they were still behind the closed doors of the lift, he took the opportunity to nibble on her earlobe.

Jean felt her legs turn to jelly, but the bell chimed signaling they had arrived on the second floor, and Lucien took a step back to maintain some sense of decorum.

All through dinner, they shared happy smiles and joyful laughs. Lucien was not very subtle about the way he brushed his leg up against hers under the table. The meal was exquisite and the wine superb. The last time they'd had dinner out together had been at the Aria, and that meal had been wonderful. This one was even better.

Lucien charged the meal to their room and savored the last of the wine while holding Jean's hand across the table. "I think it might be time for us to head upstairs. As much as I'd love to take you out dancing, I do still want to show you something."

Dancing did sound lovely, having Lucien's arms around her and swaying to music with his check against hers, feeling the scratch of his beard against her. But her curiosity over this mysterious surprise was too overwhelming. "Yes, I do believe you had a purpose in bringing me here, is that right?"

He nodded. "Yes. Upstairs."

She let him lead her back to the lifts and back to the sixth floor. "Is it in our room?"

Lucien caught her slip of tongue immediately. "Our room?"

Jean blushed. "Well, I just assumed…"

"I didn't want to presume. You're welcome to use your own room and have me stay in mine," he told her gallantly.

"Oh I don't know if that's entirely necessary."

Lucien chuckled and kissed her cheek. "You decide after we come back. We're not going to my room or your room or whichever you might decide is our room just yet. Come this way."

They walked down the hall past the doors and doors of guest rooms to one door at the end. Lucien glanced behind them and then ushered Jean inside. It was the stairwell.

"Up," he murmured softly.

Jean frowned at that. "Up? I thought we were on the top floor?"

"Yes, we are."

He did not tell her anything further. So up she went with Lucien following close behind on the narrow staircase. At the top was a door with a sign that read 'Roof.' And Lucien opened it without hesitation.

The night air was brisk but not too cold. The stars and moon were so bright, they seemed to outshine the streetlights. But even the streetlights were below them. This was the tallest building anywhere around.

"Oh Lucien," Jean breathed, taking in the vastness of the city around them. If she thought the view out of the window was something, it was nothing compared to this.

"Over here," he instructed, leading her to the far side, away from the busy city street. There was a ledge to the roof just at the height of Jean's knees. Lucien took her hand and turned her to face him. "Jean, do you trust me?"

That was the second time he had asked her that today. Her answer was the same. "Of course I do."

"I'd like you to stand up on the ledge," he requested.

"Up on the ledge?!"

"If you wouldn't mind."

Crawling around on the floor of the parlor and pretending to be a dead body to help him solve a murder was one thing. This was something else entirely. But his earnest tone echoed in her mind. He asked if she trusted him. And she did. Reluctantly, she nodded in agreement.

Lucien held her hand securely as she stepped up onto the ledge. She was now about a head taller than Lucien. "That's a girl," he commended softly. He let go of her hand but immediately held her by the waist. "Alright?" he asked.

Jean nodded. "Yes, I'm alright. But don't let go."

"That's why I wanted to show you this. Why I wanted us to come up here together."

"What do you mean?" she asked, slightly confused. It was a bit odd to stand up on a rooftop ledge with his big, strong hands holding her waist but not being able to face him.

"Look out over the city, Jean. Feel the wind in your hair. See how high up we are?"

"Very high up," she agreed.

"I came up here when I spent that one night in Melbourne on the way back from China. I thought it felt like being up on a high wire. One false move and everything would come crashing down. And that's how I felt. I was so desperate to come home to you, Jean. I had been set free from everything keeping me away from you. And knowing that I'd be seeing you soon was such a rush. And I suddenly felt secure. Knowing that I'd be with you again."

Jean placed her hands on his where they held her. She did not have words to respond to him just then.

Lucien continued, "And now, being here together, I can't help thinking that us being together, hopefully marrying one day soon…I know it won't be an easy road, Jean. For you much moreso than for me. But I just hope that if we can cling to each other, we can stay up here always. Holding each other and walk the wire together. There's no limit to how high we can go. And if anyone else has a problem with it, well…"

"Look out down below," she interjected softly. Jean understood what he meant immediately. It was a difficult path they had chosen, but they'd taken the leap together. And never mind anyone who tried to drag them down. They would take whatever would come, and they would do it together.

Lucien took a half-step forward to wrap his arms around her and hold her close. The wind was kicking up, but that wasn't what made him shiver. "Look out down below," he whispered with a smile.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: M-Rating for this chapter.**

Jean stepped off the ledge with Lucien's assistance. And she leaned straight into his arms, kissing him deeply. The moment was too magical to let end. Jean in her gown, Lucien in his tuxedo. The wind whipping through their hair, fluttering through the organza of her skirt. She clutched the lapel of his jacket to keep him close to her. His hands covered the entire expanse of her back and pressed her body tight against his. His tongue tangled with hers, and she whimpered into his mouth.

What a picture they must have made in their formal attire and locked in their fiery embrace. They very happily continued in that vein until the wind made Jean shiver with cold.

"Shall we go down to our room?" he suggested, resting his forehead against hers.

"Our room, yes," she smiled.

"I'll follow your lead," he whispered, pressing one last kiss to her lips before parting.

Jean took Lucien's hand and went back to the stairwell. There was no one around and no one saw them in the hallway as they made their way to the rooms. It was quite late and all was quiet. She took the key to her hotel room out of her purse and led Lucien inside with her.

They paused in the middle of the room, the flutter of nervous tension between them. It had only been a few days since they had last shared a bed, that first time they had made love. But everything felt momentous again, somehow.

"Everything alright?" he asked gently.

Jean turned and smiled. She lifted his large hand to her cheek and nuzzled against him. "I love you, Lucien," she told him, turning her face to kiss the palm of his hand. She said the words as a vow to him and as a rallying cry to herself. This was her choice. This was her heart. She would not silence it any longer.

"And I love you, Jean," he told her in return.

She leaned in, taking his face in her own hands to kiss him. Lucien wasted no time pulling her into his arms and leading her to the bed. They lay side by side somewhat oddly, their legs hanging over the edge and Jean's shoes falling off her feet and thudding to the floor as their kiss deepened and their hands explored skin underneath clothes.

Rather abruptly, Jean pulled away from him. She stood up and turned around. "Could you help with my zipper, please?" Lucien sat up, breathing a bit heavily, and slowly unzipped her dress, revealing the soft slip beneath. Jean stepped out of the dress and hung it up in the wardrobe to ensure it did not get ruined by being thrown onto the floor. She then turned back toward him and boldly undressed herself. She removed her slip and then unclipped her stockings and rolled them down her legs. Lucien leaned on his elbows, watching her undress, feeling his happy heart thundering with erotic anticipation.

Jean was entirely naked when she came to where he sat and unbuckled his belt. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders and undid his bowtie before pulling his shirttails from his trousers and undoing all the buttons, leaving him to take the shirt off while she yanked his trousers and trunks off his legs. And when they were both bare, Jean came to stand in front of Lucien, giving his shoulders a small shove. He lay back in the middle of the bed and Jean crawled over to join him. He watched her in amazement, this bold Jean Beazley he had never quite seen. She straddled his hips, leaning over his chest to cover him in wet open-mouthed kisses.

Her actions may have stunned her, had she given it much thought. Such forwardness was not usually in her nature. But Jean was not content to take the backseat to her own life any longer. She wanted Lucien, now and forever, and she would claim him with both hands.

They'd barely even got started, but Lucien was overcome with his need for her. This boldness she was displaying had absolutely driven him wild. Every caress of her fingers and lips, every teasing touch of her tongue. "Jean," he growled, pulling her face up to his so he could kiss her properly, their tongues surging together as they swallowed each other's moans of arousal. He could feel her hot and wet on his lap. His hands wandered her breasts, squeezing and massaging her in the precise way that made her moan even louder and grind her hips against him.

Jean pulled away from his kiss, panting. "Please, Lucien," she begged. "I need you." In an action she had never before attempted and would have never before desired, Jean raised herself up on her knees and took his hard cock in hand to line himself up at her entrance. He teased her with his tip, spreading her wetness until she sank down on him. The gasp that escaped her lips when he was fully sheathed deep inside her nearly made him come on the spot. Jean took her time, savoring their union. But Lucien was getting impatient. He pushed himself up so they were sitting face to face, his feet planted on the bed behind her with his knees bent. He wrapped his arms around her waist. Jean used her knees as leverage and began moving herself up and down. Lucien met her rhythm. Every movement between them seemed to coax him deeper inside her. All he could do was rock back and forth, holding her tight.

In that moment, Lucien was certain that he'd never been so close to another human being in all his life, physically and emotionally and romantically and every which way two people could be together. The beating of their hearts thundered like the drumbeats of destiny. Their panting breaths and the sheen of perspiration that coated them both had turned the air thick with intimacy. And somewhere in the haze of lustful pleasure clouding his mind, Lucien somehow felt as though their bodies curled around each other had intertwined their very souls, ensuring that this moment would bind them inextricably together.

Jean's movements had turned quicker, more erratic. She fluttered and clenched around him as her orgasm pulsated through her whole body. She gasped at the overwhelming pleasure, but did not stop moving. Not until Lucien followed her over the precipice, groaning with bone-deep satisfaction at spilling inside, did they slow and still.

Lucien could no longer remain upright. He kept Jean enveloped in his embrace and tilted their joined bodies to the side so they could lay together. Her face was buried in his neck, his buried in her hair. Lucien breathed against her, "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you."

He felt Jean tighten her hold on him and nuzzle closer at his words.

Eventually their heartrates and breathing returned to normal. Lucien was soft inside her, and his arm was falling asleep from her weight lying on it. As much as he despised the necessity of it, Lucien pulled himself away from her, separating their bodies.

They readjusted their positions so they could cuddle together more comfortably. Lucien sighed as he held her once more. "My darling, darling Jean. I don't think I'll ever let you go."

"You never have to," she promised.

In that moment, the words came to her so easily. She was not certain whether she had told him the truth, whether that promise could be kept. There was so much still uncertain about their future. Lucien's divorce would take time. Jean's position with the Church would take time. The reactions of their friends and families and everyone in Ballarat would take time. Lucien had warned her that it would be a difficult road ahead, and she was certain it would be. Whether it would be so difficult as to break them, she could not say. But this man she loved more than she ever thought possible, he was worth all the uncertainty. Jean had never been one to allow such things before, but she had been alone for so long, coping all by herself. Whatever came their way, Lucien would be by her side. They would be able to hold one other like this, sated and happy and in love, and that would surely be enough.


	15. Chapter 15

They woke up the following morning in the way that Lucien had wanted to after their first night together. Jean yawned and stretched and smiled as she cuddled close to him. He held her in his arms, traced his fingers along her skin, and kissed her rather messy curls.

Jean's first words were altogether nicer than the last time they'd woken up together. "I am going to have to remember to put my hair in curlers before we fall asleep next time. Otherwise the world is going to notice a pattern based on the messiness of my hair," she grumbled.

"I'll try not to exhaust you so thoroughly," he teased.

She laughed at that. "No, I like when you exhaust me. I'll just have to find the strength to get up and actually get ready for bed." Her expression fell at that. "Actually, I don't suppose we'll be able to do this much once we go home."

Lucien sobered as well. "I suppose not. Too many people underfoot. I could always kick them out."

"You'll do nothing of the sort!"

"That was a joke, Jean. A poor one, I know. You know I enjoy having Mattie and Danny around. Most of the time. But it does make it difficult for you and I to carry on."

Jean shifted against him, leaning up to kiss him softly. "We'll manage. We'll find our quiet moments, won't we?"

"We'll have to." He pulled her back for a deeper kiss, and they did not speak again for some time.

Eventually, they got up and Lucien snuck back to his own room so they could each prepare for the day and pack their things. They went to the hotel tearoom for breakfast before checking out.

Jean, reluctant to end their little weekend getaway, asked if they could perhaps put the luggage in the car and spend the morning in Melbourne. "After all, no one is expecting us home till the afternoon…"

Lucien smiled at that. "Quite right. I know you won't let me take you shopping, but there's a nice museum a few blocks up the road that we can explore."

And so the pair of them strolled hand in hand along the bustling Melbourne streets. It was quieter on Sunday than it had been on Saturday. That was when Jean remembered it was Sunday morning and she was not going to church. It was an odd realization. Obviously she was sometimes unable to go to church on Sunday for one reason or another. When Lucien's father had been ill, Jean did not want to leave the house for anything; she prayed quietly by his sickbed and had not been to church in weeks. But this felt different. Before, she had known that God would not frown on her absence from Sacred Heart for her faith was strong and she was detained by important matters, never forgetting her spiritual commitments. Now, she was conflicted and confused about her future. The harsh judgment she had received from the priests had been proper, but she did not feel chastised or guilty. She did not want to feel chastised or guilty. She felt angry over the injustice of it all, that what she had found with Lucien was beautiful and a gift to be treasured, and her church scorned her for it. Lucien had showed her, in his way, that what one feels in their heart and one's kindness towards others are the only things that matter. The prescriptive rules of the church which had once given Jean guidance where she had none, those rules confined her where they'd before given comfort. It was an odd thing to realize, that she may have outgrown the church much the same way her sons had outgrown their childhood picture books. Things having served their purpose need not be clung to, Jean had always believed.

"You're thinking awfully loudly," Lucien ventured as they quietly walked.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

He gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. "No need to apologize. Just wondering if something's wrong."

"No, not really. I just realized that it's Sunday and I'm not going to church."

"Would…would you like to?" he asked hesitantly, not sure where this conversation may lead.

But Jean smiled up at him. "Not in the least. Let's go to the museum."

They spent a few hours wandering the seemingly endless rooms and remarking on the various artworks to each other. Lucien's mother had been an artist, Jean knew. She dared to ask him about it at one point.

"Yes, I loved to watch her paint when I was a boy. She had a wonderful eye for color. I used to sit and stare at all her paints and the way she would mix them and create new colors and place them in just the right place on the canvas," he told her in fond remembrance.

"Your father never really spoke much about her art."

"I don't think he understood it. So much about her, I think, he was just enthralled by. I know that he loved her very much, but her foreign manners and her artist sensibility just added to his amusement of her and prevented much understanding," he said.

Jean placed a kind hand on his arm. "It must have been difficult for them."

Lucien shrugged. "I was so young. But I do have many memories of the three of us being happy. Dad would play the piano while we sat in the parlor. She would sing to me in French. He would overhear her and smile. I don't have a lot of other memories of my dad smiling. But he was always smiling at her." He trailed off and chuckled lightly to himself.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh I just realized that the way my father used to look at my mother is quite the same way I look at you," Lucien said, smiling affectionately at her.

His words filled her with a warmth and a lightness that nearly overwhelmed her. And despite the fact that they were in public, Jean glanced around quickly to see that no one was paying attention and then stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him. "You are a sweet, wonderful man, and I love you," she whispered.

Lucien wrapped his arms around her and held her tight against him as they turned back to the Degas painting they'd been gazing at.

After leaving the museum, they had a leisurely lunch at a nearby café. They were delaying the inevitable by taking their time eating, but after they finished, there was no denying that it was time to return to Ballarat. Time to return to reality and figure out how to go forward.

"It will be nice to be home," Jean reasoned as they drove along the highway. "I need to check on my plants and see what state Mattie and Danny left my kitchen."

"It was only one night, Jean," Lucien chuckled.

"I know, and Mattie tries her best, but she and Danny both are far too wrapped up in whatever their personal and work lives demand of them to keep anything tidy," she replied in slight exasperation.

Lucien just gave a small smile at that. He knew he was much the same way. Worse, probably. Certainly worse, actually. But now that he had a very vested interest in Jean and her wellbeing, he would try to help out around the house more. Besides, if he was helping, he would be spending time with her. And that was really all he wanted.

"By the way, now that you're back, I'm going to be making calls tomorrow to your regular patients to inform everyone that you're taking appointments again," Jean informed him.

"Yes, that would be good. I'm sure there's lots to be done. By the way, if anyone asks, my aunt is doing better than we had expected, and we all enjoyed our visit with her very much."

Jean had completely forgotten that Lucien had given Danny and Mattie that story as their excuse for spending the weekend in Melbourne. "I see. Any details of our story I should keep in mind?"

Lucien could hear the edge to her voice, a sure sign that she was unhappy about something. "Nothing in particular. Simplicity is always best in cases like this, I always find."

"Oh do you?"

She was properly annoyed with him now, he could tell. But why, he was not sure. "Yes, I do. Jean, is something wrong?"

"Yes, actually. Why are you so quick to have a lie to tell? Do you spend your time coming up with stories about why we go out to dinner or what we're doing alone in the parlor or how we spent our weekend in Melbourne? Or do the lies just come to you?"

He considered his words for a moment. "I don't know if the truth is better or worse than you thinking I'm a naturally dishonest person."

She did not appreciate that flippancy one bit. "The truth, if you please."

"Training," he told her without hesitation.

"Training?" That was certainly not what she expected him to say.

"Yes, training. After the war, after my recovery, I travelled all around the world as a spy. Making up an identity and a false purpose for my actions was how I did my job and stayed alive. The best methods on how to do that were a part of my training," Lucien explained.

Jean fell silent. She wasn't sure either if that truth was better or worse than just thinking he had a penchant for telling tall tales. "What did you do as a spy?" she asked quietly.

"Watched people suspected of being communists. Infiltrated dangerous organizations to get information on what they were planning. Things like that. It wasn't nearly as exciting as the term 'spy' makes it sound. But it did involve a lot of quick thinking and plausible stories for who I was and what I was doing. Something that I think has served well in our current situation."

She sighed, "I hate sneaking around. I know what we're doing is shameful in a certain light, but I don't like to be reminded of it."

Lucien reached across the car and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. "My darling, there is nothing shameful about being in love."

"There is when I am your housekeeper and you are my married employer," she grumbled.

"Only for now. The divorce will take time, I know, but this situation is temporary. As soon as we can, we'll be married and then there will be absolutely nothing shameful about anything we do," he promised.

Jean recalled what Lucien had said to her as they stood on the roof of the hotel together. They were walking a high wire with this relationship of theirs. The sneaking around and the lying, they were all a part of that. But they were doing it together. They had to cling to each other to keep from stumbling and falling down.


	16. Chapter 16

It took some time for them to settle into a new routine, though much less time than Jean had anticipated. Lucien's spy training really did leave him in good stead, coming up with the most reasonable stories why he and Jean were going for a picnic in the park (to reenact a murder) or out for dinner (to follow and observe a suspect) or on a trip to the shops (to interview a witness). And what it led to was Jean getting to help Lucien more and more with his work and for the two of them to spend time together as much as they could. If sometimes their drive home from dinner took a detour for some heavy petting in the car in a dark alley or their walk through the park was done with them holding hands, that was all the better.

They were in their own little bubble, far away from the rest of the world. In company, they were much the same as always. Jean knew her place and knew her duty. She still did the housework and kept the doctor's surgery organized. Lucien still tore about like a whirlwind when he was working on a case. But on their own, they were surrounded by their love for each other.

Tuesday and Friday were their special nights. Danny worked nights on Tuesday, so after dinner he would kiss his aunt on the cheek and go to the station until the morning. And after Mattie went to bed, Lucien would sneak up to Jean's bedroom and they would be wrapped up in each other's arms till daybreak. On Fridays, Mattie would usually go out with her friends and not be back till late. So late, usually, that Jean could sneak down to Lucien's bedroom and already be fast asleep after making love to him by the time Mattie got in.

After a few weeks, people started noticing. Jean and Lucien were careful, of course, but some things were just too notable to be ignored. The new pathologist, Dr. Harvey, had to tell Lucien to stop humming during autopsy. Superintendent Lawson complained that he was far too chipper about murder for polite society. The butcher commented on Mrs. Beazley's dazzling smile. All of those were lovely things to be noticed. Lucien and Jean both enjoyed having their happiness remarked upon.

It wasn't until Jean ran into Mrs. Toohey at the market that she began to doubt this new routine of theirs.

"Mrs. Beazley, it's been such a long time! Haven't seen you at the church in a while," she commented.

"Oh yes, well, with the doctor back, there's so much to be done. He's had so many appointments and there's always so much to do with a house full of lodgers. I pray at home every night, but I hope to get the chance to go to mass again soon," Jean replied. That skill of Lucien's with telling plausible lies was certainly rubbing off on her.

"I'm glad I ran into you, actually," Mrs. Toohey went on, not responding to Jean's half-baked excuse. "You see, Mrs. Chesterton's broken her foot and can't get around much. She was on flower duty for this week. Do you think you might be able to bring the bouquets to Sacred Heart tomorrow afternoon?"

And what could she say to such a sincere plea? Jean had never been one to refuse anyone asking for her help, especially if she was freely able to give it. "Of course," she answered. "I have some lovely hyacinths blooming that should do nicely."

Jean went home immediately to begin figuring out which flowers to use. She had planned out all her arrangements by the time she had to start dinner. Besides, it was Tuesday. She wanted to get everything done as quick as she could so she and Lucien could have plenty of time for their evening delights.

They made love that night with a passion that completely overwhelmed her. This man, this beautiful and brilliant and terrible man, he loved her so fully, so _well_! Jean had never known anything like what Lucien did to her. The reverent way he touched and caressed her with his huge, powerful hands. The tantalizing brush of his lips, the nip of his teeth, the scratch of his beard, the soothe of his tongue. It was a wonder she even remembered her own name by the time he was through with her. And always the same, he would hold her in his arms and whisper his love for her. All Jean could do was smile as she tried to catch her breath amidst her thundering heart.

Lucien left her bedroom before she woke, though that was not too unusual. He needed to go down to his room and get started with the day before Danny came home and before Mattie woke up. Usually Jean would stir when he got up, but not so this morning. No, they started their mornings separately, sharing only a knowing smile when they met up in the kitchen for breakfast.

Danny came home for a bit of toast before going to bed. Mattie dashed out for work. Lucien was off to the police station. And Jean had to arrange her flowers.

Lucien had told Jean he was working with Lawson on the case. And that was true, for the most part. The headmaster of the grammar school had been killed, possibly poisoned to cause the bleeding that killed him. But after he checked with Alice for the test results and relayed them to Lawson, he had other tasks on his mind.

With a determined smile on his face, Lucien Blake walked into the jewelry shop on High Street. Everything glittered with gold and diamonds and silver and gemstones.

The shop assistant, Sally, came to offer her help. "Looking for something in particular, Doctor?" she asked. Sally and her mother had both been patients of Lucien's father, and they had both seen Lucien on occasion as well for the odd stomach or household injury here and there.

"I'd like to look at your selection of diamond engagement rings, if I may," Lucien requested proudly.

"Oh! Oh, yes, of course." The look of shock on Sally's face could not be missed, though Lucien chose to ignore it. He had a number of possible tales to tell if she asked him what he was doing looking at engagement rings. Obviously he had no intention of saying who the ring was for or why or when he'd be using it. He perhaps jumping the gun, but he couldn't help it. This particular errand had been on his mind for quite some time now, and he just couldn't resist looking around to see if he could find the perfect thing.

Sally showed Lucien all sorts of styles and cuts and shapes. He didn't like the square or emerald-cut. He wasn't fond of platinum or white gold. Yes, he was sure he wanted diamond. No, he did not think a pear-shape was appropriate. He was beginning to get a bit disheartened by the whole process. Nothing seemed right. Nothing looked like Jean, and nothing looked at all like what he wanted to give to Jean. But truth be told, he had no idea what he had in mind to give her as an engagement ring. He had hoped he would know it when he saw it. So far, no such luck.

At last, however, one ring caught his eye. "Hang on, show me that one," he said, pointing to the glittering little band.

As Sally handed him the ring, a small shiver passed through him. It was as though destiny itself shined down on him at that moment. Lucien suddenly had the image in his mind of holding that ring to put on Jean's hand. This was the ring. Jean's ring. Their ring.

Lucien excitedly paid for the ring and tucked the box right into his pocket. He hurried home, hoping that Jean would be the only one there and he could give the ring to her right away. After all, their engagement was all but official. It was just a matter of timing and logistics.

"Jean!?" he called out as he opened the door. "Jean, are you home?"

There was no answer. Lucien hung up his hat and wandered through. "Mattie? Danny?"

No one was home. Ah well, no matter. Lucien went in the kitchen to make a cup of tea for himself. If Jean was long, he could take the tea to his study and take a look at the patient files for tomorrow's appointments. And if she came home soon, he could make tea for them both and give her the ring before anyone else got home.

Jean, however, was not long at all. She got home only ten minutes after Lucien did. But while he had come in full of enthusiasm, she came in feeling utterly drained. She went right to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She certainly needed it.

She found Lucien sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea of his own, though it was untouched and going cold. He had what looked like a letter in his hands and a rather upset expression on his face.

"Everything alright?" she asked softly.

He took his eyes away from the page, noticing her for the first time. He smiled gently. "Hello. Have you had a nice day? Where were you?"

Jean could not help but match his expression, finding herself utterly endeared by his queries. "I had a fine day. I went to church."

"I hope that went well."

She sighed and pulled out a chair next to him and fell into it with a sigh. "It didn't really go well at all. But everyone appreciated my flowers, so I suppose that's enough."

"Oh I am sorry, my darling. Would you like to talk about it?" he asked kindly.

Jean placed a tender hand on his arm and rested her head on his shoulder. "No, not just now," she answered. "What about you? What's this?"

Lucien sighed with a kind of bone-deep exhaustion that made Jean a bit worried. "The divorce petition has arrived."

She sat up. "That's good, though, isn't it? It means things are progressing?"

"Yes, there's that, but I don't think I really thought about how this would actually go. Mei Lin needs grounds for divorce, after all."

Jean did not like his tone one single bit. "And what are the grounds she's petitioning under?"

"I'm being accused of adultery."

"It isn't an inaccurate accusation," Jean replied delicately, trying her best not to let her blood chill in her veins at the stark reminder that she shared a bed twice a week with another woman's husband.

"The truth of the matter is less important, actually."

"Is it?"

Lucien took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. "No matter what happens, please remember that I love you very deeply."

"I know you do, Lucien. And I love you. I always will," she vowed.

If his next words did not have to be horrible ones, Lucien might have thought that moment was absolutely perfect for a proposal. But as it was, he could not in good conscience off Jean the ring he'd picked out before he put everything out in the open.

"What is it?" she pressed. "What's wrong?"

"The petition and all its details are a matter of public record. And the law requires certain notice procedures in matters like this. And one of those procedures is to publish the divorce petition in all relevant locations. So I don't know when, but sometime very soon, everything on this page will be printed in the local newspaper."

Jean felt that lovely, beautiful bubble pop and dissipate into the air. And life outside that bubble suddenly felt quite suffocating. She did not have the words, not for this. Jean took his arm and held it tightly, resting her head on his shoulder once again. And she whispered, "Look out down below."


	17. Chapter 17

Two weeks later, Jean's entire world had been turned upside down, and it had left her absolutely reeling. First, Danny had been sent to Melbourne for his sergeant's training and there was no word on whether or not he'd be returning to Ballarat after his promotion. That was probably for the best, in hindsight. Jean would not want her nephew to have to suffer for her any more than she wanted her sons to do so; it was better that none of her family were around. Because three days after Danny left, the newspaper printed the divorce petition.

Jean had felt the recriminations of the public before. She had been married very quickly and become heavy with child far too soon for anyone to reasonably believe that she had not fallen pregnant before her marriage. But that was nothing compared to this. Then, she could hide out on the farm and away from the public as much as possible. Now, she was living in town and had to go out and about for the shopping and such. She did not have the option to hide away.

For Lucien, though, it was much worse. Patients cancelled almost every day. Those who had accepted the younger Doctor Blake for his beard and his strangeness could not put up with an adulterer treating their medical conditions. Even the police were calling less frequently. The new sergeant, Charlie Davis, had been wary of Lucien's methods at first but had very quickly begun asking for the doctor's assistance in his own investigations, asking what to look for and who to talk to. It was a kindness Lucien did not feel he deserved but one he appreciated more than he could say. He missed Danny, the familial bond they had developed, and Charlie was a bit too serious sometimes, but he was a good lad and Lucien grew to like him very quickly.

It was nice to have at least one person who liked him. He hadn't been very popular before he'd been the shame of the town. And because of it, he did not take Jean out into public much anymore. He knew he was a pariah, and he did not want to inflict the same treatment on her any more than she already received. Better they stayed home and kept to themselves.

The worst blow, however, came with the sudden and extremely suspicious death of Father Morton. Jean had been keeping her distance from the church ever since she had brought flowers and received a distinct glare in her direction from Father Morton, as though he looked at her as a stain on the walls of Sacred Heart. And that was before the news of Lucien's divorce was made public. But Jean was not one who liked to give up or believe in lost causes. She had thought to make one more attempt. In all the turmoil of Danny leaving and Lucien being vilified by everyone they knew, she wanted to pray and give her confession and find solace and relief in the comfort of her church once more.

The confessional was unoccupied when Jean arrived that morning, so she entered and took a deep breath to begin her confession. It had been in her mind to talk about the anger she had tried to hide in her heart, anger over the unfairness that had been thrust upon her. But Father Morton did not respond. There was silence in the confessional. She went and opened the door and found the priest dead.

Over the next day or so, Lucien was out at the autopsy with Alice and then investigating with Charlie. Jean was left home alone for the most part. Which was for the best, at the time. She had a lot she needed to pick through, things that Lucien could not be a part of. It was better that he focus on his work and be distracted from the hardship they were both facing.

A knock came at the door. Jean wiped the tears from her eyes and went to see who it was.

"Hello, Mrs. Beazley, may I have a word?"

Jean was surprised to see Patrick Tyneman there. She had not had many dealings with Ballarat's most influential citizen before. Their differing stations kept them from interacting too often. After all, he sponsored the Church Dramatic Society and she was just a bit actor in some of their plays. He was constantly at odds with Lucien Blake, and she was—as far as anyone else knew—just the housekeeper. But Jean would be a proper housekeeper and behave politely. "I'm afraid Dr. Blake is out for the day, would you like me to give him a message for you?"

"Actually, I'm here to speak with you."

That was not at all what she expected. "Come in. Can I get you some tea?"

"Yes, thank you," Patrick replied, following her inside. "I'm alright in the kitchen, if you don't mind."

"Of course," she answered, not knowing what on earth she was supposed to do. But she kept her head up and made tea just as she always did.

"I came at the request of Father Emery," he explained. "You know I'm not much of a churchgoer, but Susan is. She asked me to go to Sacred Heart and offer our condolences and whatever else we could help with. We will be providing the materials, but the funeral linens for Father Morton need to be sewn. Father Emery said that you have a sewing circle?"

Jean swallowed hard, not wanting to admit the truth, that her sewing circle was made up of ladies who had all, in one way or another, made polite excuses to avoid Jean ever since Lucien's divorce was made public. They were kind about it, but the message was clear. "I haven't done much with the sewing circle in a little while," she said delicately.

Patrick nodded knowingly. "Father Emery had hoped they would help you. Because it's you he wants to sew the linens."

"Me?" Jean asked in surprise. "Father Emery specifically asked for me?"

"He told me that Father Morton often spoke of your devotion to the church and to helping those in need. And I also know that you're a skilled seamstress. Susan's talked about how beautiful all the costumes are that you make for the Dramatic Society."

Everything in Jean's mind was screaming at her to not trust Patrick Tyneman. He was being so incredibly kind to her. But he was also a ruthless businessman, Lucien's biggest enemy in town, and representative of the whole monied class who had kept Jean firmly in her place all her life. Surely he must have some sort of ulterior motive. And yet, there was an earnestness to him, this enormously powerful man who was sitting at her kitchen table and sharing tea with her and praising Jean for all her skills.

Patrick spoke again, not waiting for Jean's response. "I heard that you were the one to find Father Morton this morning."

She was strangely pleased for the slight change in topic. "Yes, I was."

"That must have been awful."

"Yes, it has been a rather trying time."

Patrick nodded again. He was a very shrewd man, though he would not be in his position if he were not. "So you'll sew the linens?"

"I…I think I need to speak with Father Emery myself. I do appreciate you delivering his message to me. There are certain complications that I'll need to speak with him about," Jean replied.

"Of course. I should let you get on with things. Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Beazley."

Jean stood up when he did and walked him to the door. "My pleasure, Mr. Tyneman."

It was nearly lunchtime by then, but Jean did not expect Mattie or Lucien to be home. And besides, if they did come unexpectedly, there was perfectly good bread and leftover chicken for them to make sandwiches. They were capable of at least that.

And so Jean made her way back to Sacred Heart, intent on finding Father Emery and asking him what on earth he meant by asking her to sew the funeral linens for Father Morton. But when she arrived, she found the church nearly empty. Nearly, except for the last person she would have expected to find speaking to God inside Sacred Heart.

"I know it's been a long time since I've spoken to you. I don't expect an answer this time. You haven't seemed very fond of me. But how could you turn your back on all these people who love you? Aren't you supposed to reward such love and devotion? How can a father turn his back on his children!? I can't. You know I can't. I can't abandon those who need me any more than I can stop loving those I love. And how do you treat those who love you? With scorn. Allowing their suffering. You don't deserve their love."

Jean stood in the back of the nave while Lucien said his piece to God up at the altar. He turned away and saw her standing there before she could duck away.

"Oh, Jean, I didn't…" he stammered.

She smiled and crossed towards him. "It's alright. I didn't mean to interrupt. I was looking for Father Emery."

"He's in the apiary. I just came from speaking with him," he told her.

Jean was suddenly less concerned about the priest for the moment. She wrapped her arms around Lucien's middle and rested her head on his chest. He held her to him and they both relaxed in the embrace. "You were talking about me, weren't you?" she murmured, thinking about the words she overheard him say.

"Yes," Lucien replied without hesitation. "This whole thing, Jean, it's so unfair. That my situation should affect you so."

"Your situation is my situation, Lucien. Even before we began our…romance." She had nearly said 'engagement,' but Lucien was not yet divorced and he had not officially asked her to marry him yet. "Why do you think I was so cross with you when you first took over your father's practice? As your housekeeper, your reputation reflects on mine and vice versa. And now, as the woman who loves you more than anything, your pain is my pain."

He gently kissed her hair. "And your pain is my pain, Jean, and that is why I'm so bothered by this mess. I could stand the whispering about me being an adulterer if everyone didn't assume you were the one I committed adultery with."

"Well that's the truth. And we'll have to bear it the best we can," she replied. Reluctantly, she pulled away from his arms. She reached up and trailed her fingers over the line of his beard. "You go back to work. I'll go speak to Father Emery. And I'll see you at home later, alright?"

Lucien took her hand from his face and brought it to his lips. "Yes, alright."

And with that, they went their separate ways. Lucien and Charlie later found out that the surgeon who had diagnosed Father Morton's brain tumor had killed him to keep his own secret. Jean had spoken to Father Emery and was told in no uncertain terms that despite her sins, the church would not abandon her as long as she did not abandon God. She and Mrs. Toohey sewed the funeral linens on their own, both grateful for the honor to do so. Jean attended the mass with the rest of the congregation to lay Father Morton to rest. Lucien had offered to accompany her, but she insisted she go alone. No one would sit beside her in the pew until the Tynemans arrived and smiled kindly at her. Jean smiled back and sat up a bit straighter. She bowed her head in prayer as Father Emery began the mass, and Jean finally felt some semblance of relief.


	18. Chapter 18

It had been some time since Lucien had opened the mail and been happy with what he found. But today he was. He was very happy indeed. He was also happy that Jean wasn't home when he opened this particular letter, because it gave him time to plan. She would be home from the market any minute, so he needed to hurry.

As he got what he needed, Lucien could not help but think back to the past three months and all the joy and horrors they had brought them. Three months was not a long time, in the grand scheme of things, but it had felt like a lifetime. He and Jean had that terrible fight the night he returned home from China, culminating in their beautiful revelations of love for each other. And with their weekend in Melbourne, they'd solidified their bond to each other. Thank heavens for that, because without the honesty and soul-bearing they'd done in that first week, they might not have survived these last three months since Mei Lin petitioned for divorce. Rumors of Lucien's mysterious and checkered past were swirling in the newspapers for a few weeks, though they'd mysteriously stopped being printed in the Courier. The pleasant smiles Patrick Tyneman shared with Jean whenever they passed in the street may have had something to do with that. Lucien had chosen not to comment.

But Patrick Tyneman seemed to be the only one with any kind of positive regard for Jean or Lucien these days. Jean hardly left the house anymore, except to go shopping. She kept to the garden or the sunroom when she wasn't cooking or cleaning. She took solace in her plants, for which Lucien was grateful. He himself was kept busy with the police; at least Matthew and Charlie and Alice still held some regard for him, now that most of his patients had abandoned him. And they did have Mattie at home who still loved and respected them. She was a kind-hearted girl and a wise one. Not once had she made any sort of insinuations about the rumors flying around town. She did not treat Jean or Lucien any different than she ever had, and they loved her for it. They loved her even more for the way she excused herself to her bedroom earlier than she used to, leaving Jean and Lucien free to spend their nights alone.

And oh those nights! They had taken to spending every single night together, now that Danny had moved out and Jean was the only one living upstairs. Lucien would ready himself for bed in his room and sneak up to Jean's bedroom and fall asleep beside her. Sometimes they did not even make love, they just talked for a little while and shared a few tender kisses and went to sleep. It was the most glorious thing, to be able to be with her like that. It was the beacon of light in the darkness. Funny, that their daylight hours should have such a shadow cast over them while the nights shone bright with their love light. They could be happy, alone and snuggled under the covers together. They could be happy when they were all by themselves and did not have to worry about the wicked opinions of others.

"Lucien?"

He was just about ready when he heard Jean come home and call for him. He hurried out to greet her. "Hello, darling," he said with a big smile. He helped her take her coat off and kissed her swiftly.

"Oh my, hello," she laughed. "You're in a good mood."

"I am, yes. And I wanted to…" Lucien trailed off, realizing his plan was not fully formed. "Hmm."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, I'm just thinking where we should go."

"Are we going somewhere?" she asked. Her brow was arched with that very specific way she did when she was wary of his antics.

"No, I think just the kitchen. Or…the parlor? No, kitchen might be best," he decided, thinking aloud.

Jean had gone from mildly curious to full-blown skeptical of him now. "Lucien, what's going on?"

"Just sit right here, Jean," he instructed. Lucien led her to her usual chair at the kitchen table and pulled out another to sit beside her. "First, I think you should read this. It just came in the mail today." He handed her the letter he'd left on the table.

Her eyes moved from side to side very quickly and then got very wide. "Your divorce is final!" she exclaimed, getting to the pertinent portion.

Lucien smiled. "I am now officially unmarried."

"Congratulations."

He nodded, then got out of the chair and down on one knee in front of her. "And now that I am unmarried, I am free to finally be able to ask you officially." Lucien reached into his pocket to get the ring he had bought months before. He opened the little box and held it out to her. "Jean Beazley, my darling love, will you marry me?"

Jean knew in that moment that she had never felt precisely that way before ever in her life. Lucien had prepared her, had told her that he wanted to marry her as soon as he was able. And it wasn't that she had not believed him, she had. But after so long of waiting and wanting and hoping, having the moment finally real was a bit overwhelming. Her whole body seemed to be vibrating with warmth from the inside out, like her heart was expanding in her chest to fit all the love she felt for him in that moment. And because of that beautiful feeling, because she had never been so sure of anything before in her life, she smiled and told him, "Yes, Lucien, I will marry you."

He remained kneeling before her as he put the ring on her finger and pulled her into a deep kiss. They could barely maintain it, smiling and murmuring their love against each other's mouths.

"Oh!"

They broke apart immediately. They had been so immersed in their romantic moment that neither one of them had heard the door open as Mattie arrived home.

Jean was blushing something fierce at being caught, but at least there was nothing to be ashamed of now. Not really. Though when the truth came out, the extent of the relationship would be known as well, and that carried plenty of implications.

Lucien stood up, his knee creaking a bit as he did so, and explained, "Mattie, good news! My divorce has been finalized and Jean has just agreed to marry me."

The young woman's face broke into a giddy grin. "Oh I'm so glad! I've had a feeling about you two."

"Yes, well, thank you for being discrete about it," Jean added, still very pink-faced. She stood up and subtly wiped her lips of stray lipstick from Lucien's attentions and smoothed her skirt nervously. "I should get dinner started."

Mattie and Lucien both took the hint to let Jean have a bit of space to herself, which she greatly appreciated. As soon as they left the room, she took a deep breath to calm her fluttering heart. Engaged. She and Lucien were engaged. They would be planning a wedding and getting married. They would be living as husband and wife very, very soon. It was all real and finally happening. She could hardly believe. After months and months of sideways glances and hushed whispers as she walked by, it was all going to be made very worth it.

With a happy nod to herself, Jean went about fixing dinner. The three of them all ate and talked happily. Mattie had a lot of questions about how their relationship had even started, since it all went on right under her nose without her really knowing. Jean finally confessed that the date she'd asked Mattie's help to prepare had not been with an old school friend but with Lucien. Mattie had suspected as much but had not wanted the awkwardness of bringing it up.

"So that weekend in Melbourne visiting your aunt just after you got back from China?"

"A romantic getaway, yes," Lucien confirmed.

Mattie shook her head. "I can't really believe I didn't know. You were very careful."

"Well we had to be. People talk enough as it is," Jean pointed out.

"Let them talk. I'm so happy for you both, really," Mattie said.

Jean ended up very pleased that Mattie found out as she did, that they could all finally talk about it. It helped that one person, the one person who knew them best, was pleased at their news.

That night in bed, once Lucien had snuck upstairs—after all, they weren't married yet—he found Jean somewhat less ecstatic than he thought she would be. He held her in his arms and kissed her neck and found that she only hummed in appreciation rather than moaning with desire.

"Something wrong?"

"No, nothing. I was just thinking…"

Lucien climbed off her and sat up, knowing that this was a discussion to be had. "Thinking what, my darling?"

"I've got to talk to Father Emery."

He frowned. "Why?"

"Because I am still a parishioner of Sacred Heart. And I have a feeling I won't be for much longer," she explained.

That took him by surprise. Lucien knew that Jean had been having her difficulties with the Church as of late, but he had never expected her to leave. "Whatever for?"

"You are divorced, Lucien."

"Yes, what of it?"

"Unless Father Emery has some obscure understanding that I don't know about, you are still married in the eyes of the Church, and I am therefore not free to marry you."

"We don't have to get married at Sacred Heart, Jean. I actually didn't think we would anyway."

And her heart sank at that. She had not wanted to think about it, always pushing that inevitable reality away whenever it entered her mind. She knew that Lucien was not religious. She did not fault him for it. But she had been married before at Sacred Heart. Her sons had been baptized there. When she had been a widow with nowhere to turn, the Church had been her sanctuary. And now, marrying a divorced man, she would be going against canon law. And for that, she would be excommunicated.

"Is that a problem, Jean?" Lucien asked nervously. She had been quiet for a long time.

Jean gazed at the engagement ring on her finger. It really was very beautiful. Gold with two diamonds encased in a curl of smaller ones. Two stones wrapped together. Just like she and Lucien, two souls clinging to one another against the rest of the world. The ring was perfect for them. And Jean saw her path clear before her. "I'll go speak with Father Emery in the morning. I don't think he will tell me anything I don't already know. And assuming I'm right, I can get started on the paperwork."

"Paperwork for what?"

"The paperwork to officially leave the Catholic Church."

"Jean, no, you can't do that," Lucien protested.

She reached up and traced the line of her beard the way she often did. "It's the only way, love."

"I don't want you to have to give up anything for me. I don't want to cause you any more suffering," he insisted.

But Jean smiled. "The only true suffering I'll endure is if I can't marry you. You are not making me give up anything that I don't willingly let go of. The Church stands between us and our future, and so I'll have to say goodbye. I knew this was coming, and I already made my decision up on that roof in Melbourne. As we go forward up on this high wire of ours, I choose to hold onto you."

Lucien did not have the words to express how truly honored he felt to hear her say such things. He was so damned lucky, and there was no way he deserved it. There was no way he deserved her. But here she was, letting him into her bed and into her heart and into her future. And he would live every day to be worthy of that choice she'd made.

They spoke no more that night as they kissed and caressed each other, removing clothes and tangling limbs beneath the bedsheets. They celebrated their engagement with a reverent sort of lovemaking that left them both gasping and transcendently happy.


	19. Chapter 19

Everything had changed in the course of a few weeks and yet everything somehow felt like it was back to normal. Jean and Lucien no longer needed to hide. She had an engagement ring on her finger and they had a date booked the Colonists' Club. It had taken some delicate explanations to Christopher and to Danny and a letter to Jack she feared might never reach him, but everyone had come around to the idea. Jean was going to become Mrs. Blake in less than a month. She was not sure she'd ever smiled so much in all her life.

This was so different than the first time she had been engaged. She had loved Christopher with all her heart, but getting pregnant had stifled all her choices in life. There was only one path before her, to marry this boy she loved, to move to the farm he'd bought with his father's help, to be his wife and mother to his children. Now, everything that had transpired between Lucien and herself had been through her own making. Lucien had not told her she would be his wife; he had said he wanted to marry her and then asked her very earnestly. Lucien had not told her their future; he had told her he loved her and asked to discuss what life they could build together. Lucien had not compelled her to go to bed with him; she had gone to his room that first night and kissed him and made love to him all of her own volition. Every step of the way, he had left every option open to her, and every step of the way, she had chosen to hold him ever closer as they walked the wire together.

And now, after leaving the Church and going out with Lucien quite publicly, all of Ballarat knew her choice. For some, it brought further derision. Jean's sewing circle had all abandoned her, all except Evelyn Toohey who had always possessed a kinder heart than Catholic teachings might have otherwise allowed. Many of Lucien's more conservative patients had found new doctors and curtly asked Jean over the phone to send their files to their new physicians. But for some, this new reality brought a kind of understanding. There were plenty of neighbors and members of the dramatic society who had whispered about Jean when the news of Lucien's adultery had been revealed but who now congratulated her on their upcoming nuptials. Apparently the idea of a tawdry affair was quite loathsome, but the propriety of an engagement set their minds at ease. Agnes Clasby came for an appointment and brusquely informed Jean that she'd been shocked to think of such immorality under the Blake roof, but "If he loves you and wants to make an honest woman of you, that's another thing entirely." And some, of course, had never treated Jean or Lucien any differently through the last months of ups and downs since his departure to and subsequent return from China. Alice Harvey and Matthew Lawson and Charlie Davis and Mattie O'Brien, they were all close friends to Jean and Lucien, and they had never once led either to believe they would ever abandon them. And they hadn't.

The sun was shining brightly that morning as Jean kissed Lucien goodbye and set out for her errands. She needed to take care of a few wedding arrangements, now that they only had a few weeks before the big day. Her dress was being altered by a seamstress friend of hers, the food and drink would all be taken care of by the Club, and the wedding would be performed by a justice of the peace. All that was left to arrange was the flowers. Jean had hoped to use her own carefully cultivated plants, but she just did not have enough of anything to make all the centerpieces and bouquets. And so today, she would go speak to Hinshaw's Florists.

A little bell tinkled above her head as Jean entered the shop. She smiled brightly as she greeted Hinshaw's wife tending the till. "Good morning, Maureen!"

"Mrs. Beazley," Mrs. Hinshaw replied coldly. "How can I help you?"

Jean immediately felt the chill of disapproval. It was a temperature she was all too familiar with nowadays. Hopefully Maureen Hinshaw would remain civil. And if not, hopefully Jean would be able to keep control of her own sharp tongue. She squared her shoulders and held her head high. "You may have read in the Courier that Dr. Blake and I will be getting married, and I would like to order my wedding flowers from you."

The expression of pure disgust that crossed Maureen's face was one that Jean knew she would never forget as long as she lived. "You have the _nerve_ to come into this shop, run by good Christians, and ask for flowers for a whore's wedding!?" she hissed.

Hot tears of fury pricked Jean's eyes, and she desperately tried to blink them away. "Am I to understand that you are refusing my business?" Jean asked politely. The tremor of her voice gave away her emotions.

"That doctor of yours, he is the devil incarnate. He is uncouth and ungodly. He married an Oriental and then to get rid of her, he beds the housekeeper! And now you're going to marry him!? You are a disgrace to the Church and a disgrace to Ballarat and I would be ashamed to let my beautiful flowers adorn a Jezebel and a heathen! And as for you, Jean Beazley, you best believe you're going straight to—"

The door to the shop opened with the tinkling of the little bell once more and Mrs. Hinshaw's ranting was cut short.

"Is there a problem, ladies?" Patrick Tyneman asked, entering a scene so fraught with emotion and tension that he did not quite know what to do.

"No problem, Mr. Tyenman," Mrs. Hinshaw insisted. "Mrs. Beazley was just leaving."

Patrick smiled at Jean kindly. "Did you get everything you needed? I don't mind waiting my turn," he told her politely.

Jean nearly laughed to think that somehow, Patrick Tyneman of all people had become someone she considered an ally and even a friend. She took a shaky breath to calm herself. "I was hoping to order the flowers for my wedding, but Mrs. Hinshaw is unable to assist me."

He frowned and looked to Maureen with her sour expression. "I've never known Hinshaw's to be unable to provide flowers for a large event. Susan uses you for all our parties. I should know, I'm the one who pays the bills."

"Your business is welcome, Mr. Tyenman. Mrs. Beazley's is not."

If Jean were a different sort of woman, one with lesser manners and lesser inhibitions, she would have leapt over the counter and clawed Maureen Hinshaw's eyes out at that.

Patrick Tyneman was not an unintelligent man by any stretch, and after what had happened with Father Morton's funeral, he understood what had transpired in the florist shop. "Very well. I'll respect your right as a business owner to refuse service to anyone. I will therefore be giving you my business by ordering and paying for the flowers for the Blake wedding. And if you refuse my business here and now, you shall never receive it ever again."

Lucien, meanwhile, was in his study when lunchtime rolled around, preparing for his afternoon appointments. He'd just finished a case with the police—a rather nasty murder of one of the surgeons at Ballarat Hospital—and was now trying to review the files of all the patients Jean had rescheduled for him while the police had taken his attention. He'd had a bit of a drought in his medical practice during all the divorce nonsense, but now people were starting to return, and he was eager to be their doctor once more.

He heard the front door open and close, so he put his files down for the time being and went to see who was home. If it was Mattie, she could help him prepare slides for the blood tests he was going to need to run. And if it was Jean, he could indulge in a bit of romance as a nice break from his work.

Happily, it was his fiancée at the door. "Hello, darling," he greeted happily, leaning in to kiss her.

But Jean did not respond to his kiss. She did not even seem to register anything. Her eyes were wide and her expression was rather blank.

"Jean? Everything alright?" he asked worriedly.

She blinked rapidly a few times. "We're going to the Club for dinner tonight at seven," she informed him.

"Oh?"

"Yes, we've been invited out to celebrate our engagement. And Patrick Tyneman is paying for the flowers at our wedding," she told him.

Lucien was flabbergasted to say the least. "He's _what_!?"

Jean explained the whole thing, from Maureen Hinshaw's rudeness to Patrick's kindness. "And then as I chose the arrangements I wanted and Mrs. Hinshaw went to fetch the proper order forms, Patrick asked if we would like to have dinner tonight with him and Susan. And after what he did for me, I couldn't very well refuse. You won't make a fuss, will you?" she asked worriedly. Jean knew that her fiancé was not always on the best of terms with Ballarat's most influential citizen.

"I won't make a fuss at all," he promised. "I'll certainly want to thank Patrick for his rather uncharacteristic show of decency."

Jean shook her head. "Actually, this isn't uncharacteristic for him at all. I haven't the faintest idea why, but Patrick Tyneman has been extremely friendly and kind toward me lately, and he has been a great supporter of us. And let's face it, Lucien, there haven't been too many. With the Tynemans as our friends, I think we might be able to move past being the utter shame of Ballarat."

Lucien absolutely hated that she was right. He had always despised this town and its small-minded, conservative values. When he'd returned home to see his dying father, he'd vowed to leave as soon as humanly possible. But this town where he was born had miraculously become his home once again. He had friends here, in Mattie and Charlie and Alice and Matthew. He had found the love of his life here. And he would not abandon this place while those people he cared for still remained. And if that meant becoming friends with Patrick Tyneman, so be it. "Alright, Jean," he finally agreed. "We'll go to dinner with the Tynemans. And who knows, perhaps your goodness will rub off on your new friend."

A wry smile crossed her face. "At the very least, I bet he'll buy you some very nice scotch," she replied.

And Lucien laughed as he leaned in to kiss Jean once again.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note: M-rating for the end of this chapter**

When Lucien Blake was a very little boy, his mother would take him out to the garden to play. Genevieve Etienne had been a great lover of the arts of all kinds, including the ballet. She would show her son how dancers would spot their turns, but Lucien was far too young to understand the importance of it. He would stick his arms out and spin and spin and spin until he was too dizzy to remain upright. He would fall on the grass and laugh. His mother would laugh with him. And that feeling, the sun on his face, the grass tickling his limbs, his head so dizzy he could barely see the blue of the sky, that feeling had stuck in his mind as the happiest his had ever felt in all his life.

As he grew, Lucien had gotten married and had a child, and those things had filled his heart in a way that he never knew possible. It was a warm contentment that love had given him. But nothing had ever matched the giddiness and pure joy of spinning with his mother in the garden. Nothing, until this day.

All of Jean and Lucien's friends were there at the Colonists' Club to celebrate their wedding. Jean's son, Christopher, had come all the way from Adelaide. His wife, Ruby, was pregnant and unable to travel, so they had expected Christopher to need to stay with her. But he had made the trek to see his mother and meet Lucien and give the couple his blessing. Lucien found him to be a serious young man, possessing all the strength and kindness and good sense of his mother underneath the harsh veneer of a soldier. Christopher had mostly stuck with his cousin Danny through the ceremony and reception, though he granted his mother a few dances.

Jean had been absolutely radiant all day. Her wedding dress was simple and traditional but utterly beautiful. She seemed to have a glow about her, and Lucien was rather certain that she had not stopped smiling for a single moment all day. Even when they shared their first kiss as husband and wife, she had kissed him through her beaming smile. When Cec Drury gave the wedding toast, Jean was smiling. When Matthew and Charlie and Christopher and Danny and Patrick all asked for a dance with the bride, Jean was smiling. When she watched Lucien dance with Mattie and Susan and even Alice, Jean was smiling.

She could not recall a more joyous occasion in all her life. Jean had never been given such an opportunity before, to be so happy. She realized through the last year of her romance with Lucien that life had always given her something to focus on that was so much more important than her personal happiness. Not that she was an unhappy person or that her life had been unhappy; quite the opposite, Jean had always been so filled with love from her family and her husband and her children and her church. But all those things that brought her happiness also brought her pain. Premarital pregnancy, widowhood, poverty, maternal worry, all of it came because she had loved so deeply and so recklessly. Until now. Now, she had not been punished for loving too much or too wildly. The hardship that she and Lucien had faced was all rewarded now. For even though it had been quite the folly for falling in love with her employer, waiting for him when he went to China, standing by him as he went through his divorce, it was all made gloriously worth it. Jean had not faltered in her devotion to him, and in irony of ironies, she found that she had been blessed for it.

The wedding had been perfect, the reception beautiful. The flowers were exceptionally lovely, and Patrick Tyneman had the good grace to not mention it in his toast. He had, however, commended Jean in settling Lucien's more wild ways, but tempered that statement by then commending Lucien for seeing Jean's brilliance and talent and ensuring that all the rest of them would take notice of her. Lucien had been quite pleasantly surprised by Patrick in recent months. Jean now called him a friend and, though it may have been begrudging, Lucien now echoed that sentiment.

But the night eventually came to an end and Lucien whisked Jean off home. Mattie would be staying with a friend to give the newlyweds the house to themselves for the night before travelling to Melbourne and beyond for the honeymoon.

Given that she and Lucien had been sneaking around making love for months now, the wedding night was not momentous for that reason. But it was momentous nonetheless. They returned to their home and were, for the first time all day, completely alone with each other.

"Lucien?" Jean said softly, standing to remove her hat in front of her new vanity mirror in the old studio that they'd converted into their new suite.

He came to stand behind her after removing his jacket and tie, placing his hands on her waist and kissing the side of her neck. "Yes, my darling?"

"Could you take the pins out of my hair please?"

He was instantly reminded of their first date, when they had sat on the sofa and he removed her hairpins before kissing her passionately. The memory made his chest tight and arousal coiled in his belly. Lucien did as she asked, slowly and methodically taking out the few pins that had held her beautiful curls in place for their wedding. His fingers combed through her silky hair before he gently turned her head to kiss her lips.

Jean turned in his arms so she could deepen the kiss. Her fingers worked the buttons of his dress shirt as quickly as she could manage. They were alone on their wedding night, and she wanted her husband with a passion that a year earlier would have terrified her. Now, she found comfort and power in her desires, knowing that Lucien matched her every step of the way.

As Lucien felt his wife's tongue surge into his mouth, he felt absolutely bowled over by his want of her. "Oh Jean, my Jean, my wife, my Jean," he moaned as her kisses travelled down his neck, nipping and sucking on his sensitive skin.

She smiled against him. His Jean, his wife. That's exactly who she was. That was exactly who she had fought so hard and waited so long to become. They were truly coming together now, as husband and wife, as two souls twining together in true love.

Lucien pulled her away before she finished unbuckling his trousers. He turned her swiftly so he could undo all the tiny buttons of her wedding dress. His breathing was heavy from arousal, blowing her hair with every puff of his lungs. She seemed to tremble slightly from the anticipation of it all, and she had to close her eyes to keep herself calm. By the time the gown was pushed off her shoulders to pool at her feet, her knees were quite weak. But Lucien did not even give her a chance to get her footing before pulling her slip off over her head. He undressed her so fast, she barely knew what he was doing. His hands and lips were seemingly everywhere and suddenly she was entirely naked. Her eyes snapped open and she found herself standing in front of the vanity mirror still with Lucien behind her in only his vest and trousers. Their eyes met in the mirror, dark and wanting.

Jean turned back around to return to her task of undressing her husband. He was kissing her and his hands found their way to her breasts, distracting her from her goal. But soon, Lucien too was bare before her. She stroked his erection with a practiced hand, making him groan loudly at the sensation.

With a rather mighty growl, Lucien pulled away from Jean and lifted her up into his arms. They kissed rather messily. Jean wrapped her legs around him and moved her hips to try and generate the friction she needed. She was quite wet from the eroticism of their brief foreplay. She positively ached for him and begged with her body for him to give her what she knew he could.

Lucien turned and pressed Jean up against the wall. His hand reached between them to stroke her. She pulled her head back and gasped as he entered her with two fingers and rubbed her with his thumb. Her head hit the wall but she did not care. She moaned his name with the reverence of a prayer. He knew her body so well by this point. She shattered against his hand very quickly.

Her sex still quivered with aftershocks as he removed his hand and replaced it with his cock. He thrust inside her deep and hard. All Jean could do was cling to him and mewl with high-pitched little sounds of pleasure.

Their coupling was fast and messy. Lucien held out so that he and Jean could come together, as he had hoped they could on their wedding night. Their hearts pounded and their skin was slick with sweat and their breathing was heavy as they held each other. Jean was pressed against the wall with her ankles crossed behind his back. Lucien was still inside her as he slumped with exhaustion.

"Alright?" he eventually asked, pulling out and putting her down.

Jean gave a breathy laugh. "Oh yes, I think so. And you?"

He grinned in response. "Very much alright."

"I'm going to clean up in the bathroom. I'll be right out." She gave him a quick kiss before stumbling off.

Lucien felt a bit wobbly himself as he gathered their clothes as best he could and turned down their brand new bed. He flopped down on the sheets still naked and regaining his sense of reality. And as he stared at the ceiling with the flickering sparkles of the gold leaf that still clung there, he was suddenly six years old again. His heart leapt in his chest, his face could not stop smiling, a giggle bubbled up inside him. He felt giddy, just as he used to in the garden after he fell from spinning so much. And this last year had been just that way, the eternal spinning and spinning and nearly falling but managing to keep going. He had finally landed on the grass, now.

"You seem very happy," Jean noted as she made her way to bed with him.

He turned his head to look at her. They were both smiling. "I am happy, Jean. I've never been so happy in all my life."

She leaned in to kiss him softly. "Me too. I feel like we're flying high above the rest of the world, like we've crossed that high wire we've been walking together and finally reached the freedom to float amongst the clouds."

He chuckled, fascinated by the metaphor. "I feel just the opposite. That we've been balancing so high up for so long, we've finally gotten to come back to the ground." He proceeded to tell her the story of spinning in the garden as a child, how he had been chasing that exuberant joy ever since and finally found it here and now with her.

Jean snuggled against him. "Well, whether we're on the ground or up in the air, we're together. And I think that's all that matters in the end."

Lucien nodded and held her tight. His wedding ring glinted in the dim light. "Yes, Jean. That really is all that matters in the end."


End file.
